


Eliot Spencer and the Hogwarts Job

by AUserByAnyOtherHandle, ladyphlogiston, sophibug



Series: Hedgehogs Stories [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Leverage
Genre: A Closer Look, Adoption, Friendship, Gen, I AM NOT THE ILLEGITIMATE DAUGHTER OF LUCIUS MALFOY, Triwizard Tournament, let's go steal a dragon, someone competent comes to Hogwarts, this was going to be Eliot/Tonks but ended up being Sterling/Amelia Bones and we're not sure how
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-07-24 15:43:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16178156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AUserByAnyOtherHandle/pseuds/AUserByAnyOtherHandle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyphlogiston/pseuds/ladyphlogiston, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophibug/pseuds/sophibug
Summary: The Leverage team comes to the aid of Harry Potter, who is facing the deadly tasks of the Triwizard Tournament. But this job, like so many of their jobs, turns out to be a lot bigger than they expected...





	1. prologue

**March 24th, 2005, Little Whinging, Surrey, UK**

Eliot Spencer hated Little Whinging. Possibly the most boring suburb he had ever had the displeasure of working in. (He was on security detail for a safehouse. Because there was no way anyone would suspect that there was something going on in the only house in five blocks with boarded up windows and no car in the drive 95% of the time. Idiots.) The people were either rude and indifferent, or rude and nosy, or somehow rude, nosy, and indifferent. So when he came upon a large man, red with anger, laying into a boy who couldn't be older than 7 or 8, he went perhaps a bit crazy.

It took a few seconds to leave the man crumpled on the ground, nose and probably several ribs broken. A quick examination of the boy (who had passed out) showed heavy bruises already forming, on top of older bruises and some old scars. The kid was also rake thin. Eliot reevaluated his estimation of the boy's age. He had seen malnutrition before. A look around caught curtains twitching as a neighbor tried to be subtle about spying on the scene.

That, more than anything else, made his decision for him. The abuse was obvious, and the people around did nothing. He tossed the boy over his shoulder and headed out. He had parked a few blocks away, and he doubted anyone would stop him.

Eliot was halfway to Jenny's office—ahh, yes, _that_ Jenny, the attractive doctor he’d met a few years before—when the kid began to stir.

"Calm down kid, I'm not going to hurt you," Eliot said before the kid could work himself into a panic. "I'm taking you to a doctor to get checked over. What's your name?"

"Harry, sir." The kid swallowed. "Harry Potter."

\----------------

**July 15th, 2007, undisclosed location, USA**

"Can I have another pancake, Eliot?"

"Sure, Harry," Eliot mumbled, inspecting the strange envelope that had been in the mail. This, right here, was the reason he'd spent considerable time and effort training Harry _not_ to get the mail. You never knew what was in it.

The envelope was parchment, not paper, easily thick enough to conceal wiring, and the wax seal might be hiding a trigger. He hefted it. Too light to contain explosives, he decided. Probably a caustic agent, or a biological weapon or something. Probably not a disease; their current safe house was in a city neighborhood, and the disease could spread uncontrollably. Eliot wouldn't use anything contagious or easily spread in this neighborhood. And whoever had sent this was good enough to track him down and know he had a son, so it wasn't anyone stupid.

He looked up to see that Harry had made himself another pancake and was sliding it onto his plate.

"I'm going to open this downstairs, Harry," Eliot said, and turned to leave. He knew Harry wouldn't follow him. Harry wasn't allowed in the basement without explicit permission, which he rarely got. Kid didn't need to know what was down there.

Eliot placed the envelope on the table in the most fireproof section of the basement (he'd spent three days stacking cinder blocks to subdivide the unfinished basement into small rooms, and a fourth day lining this one with cement and running vents to the outside) and put on a gas mask, a pair of welder's gloves, and a heavy-duty disposable lab coat. He carefully slit the envelope open, avoiding the wax seal.

There was no explosion, no breaking glass, not even any wires that he could see. Just a couple of sheets of parchment.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?" he read aloud. "What the hell is this???"

\--------------

Eliot pulled the letter out again that evening. He hadn't shown it to Harry yet. He thought he'd heard the name "Hogwarts" before, though.

Eliot took a pull of his beer, thinking. He'd definitely heard the name. A man who’d been drunk at the time, celebrating a successful acquisition. Leroy...Goyle? Leroy was an enforcer, surprisingly successful for basic muscle. He was in New Orleans, last Eliot had heard.

Well, New Orleans was not too far away, and he was between jobs. It would do Harry some good to get some culture in him. Plus, New Orleans was great for learning situational awareness and trailing. Lots of color and distractions to make it harder than most cities. And Susan had moved down there a few years ago hadn't she? Ahh, yes, _that_ Susan. It would be nice to catch up.

\--------------

The seedy bar was sparsely populated, but, lo and behold, there was Leroy, having a drink with half a dozen similarly large and dimwitted thugs. Other local enforcement, presumably. Eliot shook out his arms as he walked in. History dictated that some persuasion would be needed to get answers.

Twenty minutes later, Eliot left the bar, thinking. The information Leroy had divulged had been...interesting. Eliot probably would not have believed it had he not seen the man make a few coins float with a stick. Leroy had then tried to hit him with some sort of red blast which, while easily dodged, had blown a two inch hole in the wood paneling of the bar.

Eliot did a quick circuit around the hotel he and Harry were staying at. He spotted half a dozen owls on the ledge outside their suite, each with a thick envelope tied to its leg. Whoever this McGonagall was, she certainly was persistent. Another owl had been waiting at the airport when they landed in New Orleans. Two more letters showed up that evening at the hotel, delivered to the front desk. In the time it had taken Eliot to track down Leroy (a few hours of legwork and a handful of busted heads), a full dozen letters had arrived for Harry.

\-----------------

**September 2nd, 2007, King’s Cross Station, London, UK**

Eliot watched Harry board the train. It was harder than he expected. Usually he was the one leaving Harry, traveling for a day or two on a job. Harry would be safe at home, with packed meals, careful instructions, six ways to leave the house and three safe houses within walking distance, and the phone numbers for the police, the fire department, the doctor, and Gil the Fixer programmed into his phone.

But now Harry was the one going off into the unknown. He still had his phone, of course, carefully disguised and shielded from magic with the charm Leroy Goyle had (unwillingly) demonstrated. He had signal flares, and MREs, and an extensive first aid kit, and UV ink for writing his real letters to Eliot (they'd practiced writing a safe letter on one side of a parchment and putting any sensitive information on the reverse), and several potions and books of varying levels of legality that they'd found in the magical quarter of New Orleans. He was as prepared as Eliot could make him.

It still didn't seem like enough.

Eliot sighed and adjusted the pendant he wore on a chain under his shirt. Another tip from Leroy, this one a group of runes that could be "charged" to allow a muggle to get through the anti-muggle magic used by the wizarding world. Eliot and Harry had made them out of polymer clay, and Harry had exploded the first three before figuring out how to charge them properly. Eliot wore one against his skin to be in wizarding spaces. The number of uninteresting places that turned out to be wizard homes and stores was remarkable. No wonder Leroy was successful.

(Eliot had always wondered about that, as Leroy was definitely a third-rate fighter. As it turned out, he was a lousy wizard as well as a lousy muggle, and the combination had its uses.)

The train was beginning to fill up, so Eliot strode forward, using the commotion of a noisy group of redheads to cover his boarding. He found a secure spot at the back of the train and settled in. It might be a long ride, but he wasn't letting Harry go anywhere without knowing how to find him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is with immense pride that I post this story. The three of us (we're siblings) have been working on it since July, and I'm super excited that it actually came together. It started when AUserByAnyOtherHandle texted me the first scene, and it caught my imagination enough to text back the next, and it kept going from there. Many thanks to my husband for his hours of editing work! ~ladyphlogiston


	2. So shiny

**November 2nd, 2010, Leverage Headquarters, Boston, USA**

Eliot fiddled with the letter while Hardison prattled on about something or other not terribly relevant to anything. Sophie kept glancing at him, concerned, and Nate had been quietly studying him for a while. They clearly knew something was up. Which meant he was probably scowling. Which meant that any moment Hardison would notice and his babble would stagger to a halt.

"Transport Network layer encrypted by...my new software...computer...thing..." Hardison staggered to a halt noticing Eliot's face.

"Something to share, Eliot?" Nate asked.

Eliot considered his partners. Hardison and Sophie he trusted. They were his people. Criminals, but not, y’know, bad. Parker was crazy, but dependable. More so than the others perhaps. And Nate...Nate was a good guy. Lord knows he had his issues, drinking being just the tip of the iceberg, but he was a good guy. Plus, Nate likely already knew. He was clever like that.

He could trust these people.

"My kid is in trouble." Eliot spoke after a long pause. "I need to go help him."

There was dead silence for a few seconds before Sophie, Hardison and Parker all asked questions at the same time.

At length Eliot explained that Harry was his adoptive son. He had taken him from a bad situation, and then he had been enrolled in boarding school in the UK for the last few years, starting just before Eliot joined the team. He had kept quiet about Harry since there were more than a few people that would like very much to hurt Eliot, through Harry if necessary.

Eliot decided to hold off on the discussion about magic until they were in the UK.

\----------

Parker sorted through the shelves in the kitchen, before pulling out a box. "Why does this box of biscuits have cookies on it?"

Sophie looked up from where she and Nate were sitting at the table. "They are cookies, Parker; Brits call them biscuits."

Parker's brow furrowed as she ripped open the packaging and shoved one into her mouth.

"They also wait in queues, not lines, and when they're drunk they call it pissed." Eliot popped open a beer and sat on the couch.

Hardison folded his ladder and sat beside him. "The array's up, Nate."

"Run it."

Hardison sighed, and pulled up a few images on the six screens he had hung across the wall. "Eliot, are you sure it's called Hogwarts? I tried that, and a couple of variants, but got nothing but two abandoned pages and one three-year-old forum post. No good information there: the first were apocalyptic sites and on the forum it was only a reference. The domain was unregistered, too, although not anymore." He grinned, and the website appeared on the screen.

"Yes, Hogwarts School." Eliot took a long drink out of his bottle. "Of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he muttered.

"What was that, Eliot?" asked Nate.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry's a wizard. A real life wizard, with magic wands and flying broomsticks. Apparently there's a whole hidden world. They hate technology and know nothing about modern society. Half the kids at school gaped when Harry pulled out a cellphone, and all of them thought it was impossible to have it work in the school. The competition he's been entered into is the Triwizard Tournament between three magic schools. He's going up against three seventeen-year-olds, and he's fourteen. He might die."

The team sat, stunned. Parker popped another cookie into her mouth. "What, you guys didn't know about magic?"

They stared at her, dumbfounded.

"No, Parker, we didn't know about magic."

"Eliot does."

"He only found out a few years ago."

"Why'd you never tell me?" Hardison sounded indignant.

She shrugged. "You have to be a witch to break through their security anyway. No point."

"Why do you know about magic?" Eliot asked.

Parker's eyes lit up. "They use gold coins for money. They're so shiny!"

The rest of the group stared at her, and Nate drummed his fingers against the tabletop.

"Eliot, we're going to need more intel. This is just another con, and people are people. We need information, and everything will fall into place."

\----------

The main street of Hogsmeade was full of teenagers and stores catering to them. Glitzy robes with lacy and half-transparent sleeves and even, daringly, bodices hung outside of clothing shops. A man selling ice cream was doing brisk business despite the cool autumn air. The scent of sugar rode on the breeze, attracting students like flies to Honeydukes. A few adults stood in pockets, intermittently breaking their own discussions to yell at errant teens.

The team stood at the edge of town, watching. They drew a few stray glances, but no one paid them any attention in their new wizarding robes. Eliot appeared out of the crowd, standing next to a young man with black-rimmed glasses and shaggy black hair. Two more teenagers followed close behind: a tall, lanky young man with red hair, freckles and a sulky expression, and a young woman with wild ringlets of brown hair.

"Harry, this is Nate, Sophie, Hardison, and Parker. I work with them," Eliot said, glancing back at the other two students.

"It's great to meet you all," said Harry, grinning.

The girl made as if to walk between Harry and Eliot, found her way blocked, and went around. "I'm Hermione Granger, and that's Ron Weasley. We're Harry's friends. He's told us that you've come to sort out this mess without getting him killed."

Ron snorted under his breath. "Or worse, expelled," he mimicked.

"Shut up, Ron," snapped Hermione. She frowned at Nate. "So, what are you going to do?"

Sophie drifted forward. "Hermione, right?" Her accent was a little rougher around the edges than usual. "We are still in the planning stage of our mission. You seem like a bright young woman; we'd appreciate your help. First, we need much more information about the Wizarding World than we currently have. Usually we rely on the Internet, but I suppose we will have to rely on books. Is there a library we could use?"

Hermione perked up. "Yes, the Hogwarts library is historic, and contains more books than any public library in the British Isles. For several hundred years it was a tradition that each Headmaster would add more books to the library than the previous one did, and while it does mean that in some eras it is swollen with irrelevant nonsense, it really is a pity that the tradition has fallen by the wayside. It is extremely inconvenient to actually try to find any books, though." Her face turned back to stubbornness. "So what's your plan?"

Nate's eyes narrowed. "Is there no indexing system? Not even an old-fashioned card catalog?"

Hermione shook her head, lips pursed. "None. Apparently library indexing is new-fangled."

Nate smiled. "Well, it sounds like coming up with a decent mapping system for the library, and digitizing some of the more important books, might be a good first order of business. We could at least give you a boost until we find the books we need. We'll need intel on the Tournament," he cast a glance at Eliot, uncertain for a moment, "the Cup, what the challenges might be, how he got contractually wrapped into this. We need to find out who altered the Cup, too. Harry is still in danger from them."

Hermione nodded. "That would be a big help."

"In the meantime," Nate continued, "there's no reason to sit and talk in the cold. Why don't we go to the pub I see there?"

Ron perked up at the mention of a pub. "The Three Broomsticks? Their butterbeer is amazing."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'll take them to the Three Broomsticks and get a table. You go find your brothers. The twins might as well use their rule-breaking for a good cause for once."

Ron looked mutinous, but Hermione ignored him and started walking. Ron sloped off, hands in his pockets.

The team followed Hermione into the warm pub. They found a table, and ordered a round of butterbeer.

"So, I have a spell that I sometimes use when, um, my friends miss class, for copying notes." Hermione said, sipping on her butterbeer. She was a terrible liar, honestly, but giving copies of notes or even homework was not enough of a sin to faze the Leverage team. "We could use it to copy pages out of the library books, if we're careful and the librarian doesn't see us."

Hardison nodded. "The books are handwritten, right? Okay, can the spell standardize the text somehow? I could come up with a digitization protocol pretty easily if the writing weren't so variable."

Hermione's eyebrows drew together. "I'm not sure I know of one. Actually, I think the twins might have something like that? They use it to, uh, make copies of their notes. You'd have to ask Fred and George." Given what Eliot had heard of the twins, it seems more likely they used it to copy cheat sheets with plausible deniability. He took a sip of his beer.

Just then, two teenagers of about sixteen walked into the pub, dragging a recalcitrant Ron Weasley behind them.

"Did we hear our names?"

"I think we did. What's that they say?"

"Speak of the Devil–"

"–and he shall appear."

They bowed in unison.

"And bring a pesky little brother who is being a right git, although that's not part of the poem."

The team glanced up at them, paused, and looked at each other.

"Hardison?" Said Sophie, her voice a bit high-pitched.

"Yeah?"

"Why is a frog made of chocolate hopping around the table?"

He grabbed it and stuffed it into his mouth. "Wizarding candy. It's the best."

Nate stared at them, shook his head, and turned to the twins. "Fred and George Weasley, I presume. Hermione was just describing your ability to adjust the copying spell to standardize writing?"

One of them nodded. "I'm not sure what you mean by standardizing. We have adapted the copying spell to change the lettering of a page from one handwriting to another."

The other leaned forward. "So as long as you have a sample of someone's handwriting, you can copy out an entire book in their handwriting, if you want."

"May I ask who's asking?"

"Nate Ford, head of the Leverage team. We help people, who others can't." He introduced the rest of the team.

Hardison hit some keys on his laptop. "If you give me a sample of a nice, even handwriting, I'll write some code that will hopefully be able to recognize it. It doesn't have to be perfect, just enough for a searchable database. I'm still flying blind. Usually by now I'd have the financial secrets of half the organization."

The students paused for a moment. The twins, staring at Hardison with identically furrowed brows, spoke in unison. "How?"

"The Internet, baby! It's a database of everything that man is meant to know and, if you know your way around it, has plenty of information on what he wasn't." He took a bite out of a squirming chocolate frog.

The twins made eye contact for a long moment.

"Would you like a drink?" Eliot said, inviting them to sit down. They agreed.

"So your idea is to make some sort of...Internet, but for the magical world?"

"Yeah, you know, library, back issues of any common newspapers and magazines, stuff that I can mine for data. Maybe some government records...um, if they're available."

The twins' eyes lit up. "And if we help you, would we have access to this information?"

\-----------

Two weeks later, they gathered again in front of Hardison's computer array.

"Your project with Harry's friends worked?" Nate asked.

Hardison nodded, still tweaking some settings. "Took some tricky magic on their part, to project each page of each book on a magic mirror that I could record from, and then I had to hack into the EPCC in Edinburgh to get enough processing power, but I ran the entire Hogwarts library, including back issues of the newspaper, through my specially adapted OCR software. It's rough as hell and I'm still refining the search algorithm, but it works."

"Okay, then. Run it," Nate said.

Hardison pressed the button on his remote and photographs of Hogwarts Castle came up. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Founded about a thousand years ago to teach magic to the wizarding population of Britain. Today it offers a seven-year course of study, beginning when students are eleven. Students learn magic and essentially nothing else, not even writing skills and basic math. Some of them get taught that stuff at home, but....these people, man." Hardison shook his head, then continued.

"Current Headmaster is Albus Dumbledore. He is 113 years old and holds Masteries (it's like a magic PhD) in Transfiguration, Potions, and Alchemy. He also holds two political offices and had some kind of big-shot role in the last two wars....Sorry, I'm still sorting through some of this stuff, and I can tell there's more I should know than what's published.

"The students are sorted into four houses: Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Gryffindor. There's a lot of stupid stereotypes about the members and former members of each house. I've got rumors of bullying and favoritism, but no published accounts."

"Harry's had to deal with some bullying," Eliot noted.

"Right. Speaking of which, our client is Harry Potter, orphaned at the age of fifteen months when the Dark Lord Voldemort (and that name is ridiculous, by the way) murdered his parents. Harry is known as the Boy-Who-Lived and subjected to typical celebrity treatment by the wizarding community. Most recently, Eliot had to pay a little visit to a reporter named Rita Skeeter to stop a series of damaging articles targeting him and his friend Hermione.

"The wizarding world appears to have a grand total of three publications, which is frankly just stupid. The _Daily Prophet_ is the best known, and tells the truth about as consistently as the Soviet _Pravda_. _Witch Weekly_ covers celebrity gossip, and the _Quibbler_ appears to be your basic tabloid, you know, the Queen is a Nazi, that sort of thing."

"Oh, I used that one once," Sophie murmured.

"This year Hogwarts is hosting the Triwizard Tournament, a contest in which a single champion is chosen from each of three major magic schools and the champions compete in life-threatening tasks. It was started about 700 years ago, eventually canceled due to the death toll, and restarted this year. Seems to be a political thing more than anything. The winner gets 'eternal fame and glory', which amounts to about as much as any high school championship would, and a thousand galleons, equivalent to around $30,000.

"The champions were selected by a magical cup, because wizards are idiots. The champions are Viktor Krum from Bulgaria, Fleur Delacour from France, Cedric Diggory from England, and Harry Potter."

"I thought you said there were three champions," Parker asked, carefully lining up a row of Every Flavour Beans.

"There were supposed to be." Eliot leaned forward. "The stupid magic cup thing spit out four names, and the organizers decided Harry had to participate."

"Do we know why?" Sophie asked quietly.

Eliot shrugged. "Someone's trying to kill him?"

"And the most worrying part is that the organizers, including the Headmaster and two government officials, seem to be playing along," Nate put in.

Hardison pulled up several photos of empty mud and rock enclosures. "Eliot and Parker scouted the grounds of the castle and got photos of the facilities being built. Comparing those to the books from the Care of Magical Creatures section of the library indicates they're importing dragons for the task."

"Dragons are real?" Sophie gasped.

Hardison nodded grimly. "I've seen the magic photos. They're every bit as big and scaly and fire-breathing as the stories, too. They're not intelligent, as far as anyone knows, which invalidates any number of D&D manuals, but they're real."

The team sat in stunned silence.

Nate finished his drink, set his glass down with a bang and stood up. "Alright. Let's go steal a dragon."

\---------

"That punk Charlie Weasley says the dragons will be kept sedated tonight from eleven to four a.m.," Eliot reported, striding into their temporary headquarters.

"I thought you liked those dragon guys," commented Parker.

Eliot got a beer from the fridge and took a long pull. Wizards just didn't understand that beer isn't meant to be sweet. "Most of them are decent guys doing good work. But Harry saved Weasley's baby sister a few years back, and the little punk hasn't even tried to pass him a hint about the dragons."

"Saved her from what?" Hardison asked.

"Magical snake the size of a train, way I heard it," Eliot replied.

Hardison whistled.

"Right, well, this gives us our opportunity," Nate said, rubbing his hands together. "Hardison, what have you got?"

Hardison held up one of four palm-sized boxes, each carefully painted to resemble dragon scales. "These are remote-controlled intravenous pumps, loaded up with a special blend of tranquilizers and sedatives. Parker should place each one in the scales around the shoulder. Press the spring-loaded tube against the skin for a count of ten to insert the needle—I hacked it from some old Epi-pens—and then tape the unit in place. In the morning, I'll be able to make Harry's dragon sluggish. Well, probably."

"I still don't like it, but he'll make it through," Eliot interjected.

"I thought dragon skin was said to be impenetrable?" Sophie asked.

"Little-known weakness," explained Eliot. "The skin can block magical attacks and blunt or bladed weapons, but it's vulnerable to thin punctures. No one knows outside the dragon handlers, because wizards don't use syringes so it's considered useless knowledge."

"So, Parker installs the pumps, Hardison controls the dragon tomorrow. Sophie, you might get close to the MC, in case we need you. I'm going to mingle with the professors, try to get the lay of the land there. Eliot, stay with Hardison: we can't risk someone interrupting the signal."

"Yeah, about that," Hardison interjected, picking up a thickish stick from the table. "Eliot, this is your wand. Press the knot to launch the gas-propelled taser dart. You have a range of about 70 feet and 100,000 volts behind it, but only one shot."

"Don't expect to need more than one shot," Eliot said, hefting the wand.

Parker grinned. "Can I have—"

"No!" the rest of the team cut her off.

"Parker, I want you in the castle. You need to learn the routes in and out in case we need them."

Seeing Parker's pout, Hardison flipped open his laptop. "Don't worry, we installed all those cameras last week. I'm going to record everything, and you can watch it afterwards."

Parker grinned at him.

"And then I'm going to put it on YouTube," Hardison continued, looking smug. "Maybe make it a little grainy first. You know how many hits something like that would be good for?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we talk for a moment about how bad the economics of Harry Potter are? According to J.K. herself, a galleon is worth 5 GBP, but that doesn't make any sense with canon, which seems to fluctuate wildly depending on the exact purchase. We assumed a Firebolt cost about 300 galleons, and a high-end racing bike is about 10k in USD, so we estimate it as 30 dollars/23 GBP to a galleon, ish. (That also lines up with estimates of older, pre-industrialization pounds, which makes sense.) What are your favorite estimates?
> 
> We are all very strong worldbuilders. Harry Potter drives us a little crazy.
> 
> ~sophibug


	3. The First Task

The morning of the First Task dawned bright and clear. Harry stared at the toast on his plate, but his stomach felt too tight to eat it.

Hedwig came in with the other owls, carrying a tiny package. Harry ripped open the brown paper, and an earpiece rolled into his hands.

Harry stared at it. He knew Eliot used earpieces like this on his jobs, but he'd never gotten to try one himself. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching him too closely, he inserted it into his ear.

"Eliot?" he said softly.

"Hey Harry, I hear you just fine," came Eliot's voice.

"Loud and clear, Harry. This thing is shielded against electrical _and_ magical interference, and it's got a GPS tracker so we know exactly where you are at all times." That was Hardison.

"This is a simple plan, and that's a good thing, Harry. You tell us which dragon you're getting, as soon as you know, and Hardison will keep it relaxed for you. You just fly your broomstick," Nate told him reassuringly.

Sophie chimed in. "Take a deep breath, Harry. We're with you, and you're going to be fine."

"And eat something, kiddo, you need it. Just think about something else and swallow," Eliot told him.

"Thanks," Harry muttered. His stomach didn't seem quite so knotted now, and he took a bite of his toast.

"Good luck Harry," said Parker.

Harry finished his toast, exchanged fist-bumps with the Weasley twins and a hug with Hermione, smiled tightly at Ron (who was still pretty sulky), and walked out to the champions' tent.

\-------------

"Nate, there's something odd going on around here," Sophie said softly into the comm. "I'm trailing Ludo Bagman, and I think he's trying to fix the tournament."

"Bagman is the Department Head of Magical Games and Sports in the Ministry of Magic," Hardison interjected. "He also cheated the Weasley twins out of their winnings at the Quidditch World Cup."

"You guys, this castle is amazing! You should see the rock walls here. I can get anywhere with just a Class 3 scramble! And the chandeliers! They float! Wheeeee!" Parker called out.

"What's Bagman doing, Sophie?" Nate asked.

"He pulled Harry out and offered to give him some tips, and I saw him cast a spell—or possibly consider casting a spell, I didn't see any light—on Krum. Also he keeps glancing over his shoulder: he's afraid of someone."

"Someone else he cheated, probably," Nate said. "Sounds like he runs a book on his own events. Any idea how his financials are, Hardison?"

They could hear the tapping of keys as Hardison looked it up. "As you know, I can't get as much on finances as I'd like. Society pages in the _Daily Prophet_ record some splashy purchases for him up until about a year ago, but nothing recently. I'm guessing he's lost money and hopes to fix the tournament to make it up."

"Well, keep an eye on him, Sophie."

\-------------

The crowd roared as Harry stepped into the arena, and Harry did his best to ignore it. At first it seemed like the arena was filled with strangely shaped rocks, but then there was movement and his eyes resolved most of the shape into a single huge dragon, sniffing the air.

"Accio Firebolt!" he yelled, raising his wand. At Eliot's suggestion, he'd asked Hermione to bring his broom to the stadium, so it arrived almost immediately. He mounted the broom and lifted up, eyeing the dragon warily.

"Okay, Harry, I got this baby juiced up. We've got about twenty minutes of meds, then it will start wearing off," Hardison told him.

"Good luck Harry," Eliot said. He sounded worried.

Harry swallowed. He was worried, too, but he'd been in worse situations. "It'll be okay, Eliot. The basilisk was way bigger."

"That's not actually very comforting," Eliot muttered.

Harry flew forward, and the dragon tracked him with her gaze. He jinked side to side a couple of times, in case he could lose her focus that way, but she wasn't drugged enough to be truly disoriented. Her head was swaying slightly, though, and her tail was twitching.

Harry would need to get her to move away from her nest if he wanted to get at the egg. He took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and flew straight at her.

\---------

"Are there any radishes up there?"

Parker looked down from her perch in the ceiling of the Great Hall. A thirteen-year-old girl with floaty blond hair was staring at her.

Parker finished fixing the surveillance camera in place, checked that the signal was getting through to Hardison, and released her harness, rappelling to the floor. She stopped about two feet above the floor and stared back at the girl.

"I didn't see any radishes."

"Oh. I thought there might be some."

"Shouldn't you be outside watching the thing?" Parker asked.

The girl shook her head. "I don't like all the Glittering Jubbilees. They get in my ears and make my head hurt."

"I don't like them either," Parker said sympathetically. "I have friends now, and that helps. It's sort of weird."

"Friendship is powerful protection," the girl agreed.

Parker noticed that the girl was barefoot. Some people liked to go barefoot, but the castle was cold. Also it was a school. People wear shoes in school.

"Did Nargles steal your shoes?" Parker asked.

The girl nodded, gray eyes round.

Parker leaned in. "You want to learn how to steal from the Nargles?"

\---------

"Parker, who are you talking to? What are you doing?"

Harry ignored the conversation in the comms. It was nice having them there, but right now he needed to focus. The dragon had lunged at him twice, and he'd avoided the teeth both times, but she still hadn't moved from her nest.

"I need to get her to move," he muttered, turning to set up for another run at her.

"Don't use yourself as bait if you don't have to," Nate chimed in.

"What? Harry, don't use yourself as bait! I knew we should have run more scenarios for this," Eliot scolded him.

"Dragons are carnivores. Can we get a sheep?" Nate suggested.

"There aren't any sheep here! I have to do this," Harry said.

"Can't you accio a sheep?" Nate asked.

Harry paused in his run, and flew a lazy loop while he thought about it. He didn't know where any sheep were...but would that matter? There must be sheep somewhere nearby.

Harry suddenly wondered if that meant he could have summoned Krum's Firebolt instead, by accident. If this worked, he'd better look into ways to keep other people from summoning his things.

He steadied himself and pulled out his wand. It was worth a try. "Accio sheep!"

Nothing happened, but perhaps it just took a while. He flew a few loops while he waited, staying out of the dragon's range but keeping her attention.

\--------------

"So the first thing," Parker explained, "is to learn how to walk. You have to pick your mark, predict their movements, and plan your own."

\--------------

Harry swerved to avoid a blast of fire. The dragon was still slightly sluggish, but she was becoming annoyed.

\--------------

Professor Severus Snape eyed the strange man in the professors' box. He'd introduced himself as Wendyll Harfang of the Black Forest Harfangs, and Snape was certain that was an alias. And the man was just...strange. Nothing he could put his finger on, and certainly not as strange as Moody (Dumbledore, crazy old coot, had claimed that it was vitally important that Snape ignore any odd behavior on Moody's part), but still...he didn't fit.

Madam Hooch whooped vapidly at Potter's genius on a broomstick. Snape idly cast a low-powered Cramping Hex on her while he continued to study the spurious Professor Harfang. The man didn't seem dangerous, but one never knew, in these perilous times. Perhaps a simple Confundus...

\--------------

Bleating wildly, a thrashing sheep flew over the wall and landed on the ground. Several more followed it. They scrambled to their feet and scattered, still bleating.

The dragon seemed more irritated by the sheep than interested in them. She quickly returned to following Harry, roaring in annoyance.

"Guys? The dragon isn't eating the sheep!" Harry yelled.

"Most predators respond instinctively to the smell of blood," Eliot said. "Do you know any spells for cutting one?"

Harry swerved and flew hard, feeling the heat of the fire against his skin. "I don't think so!"

\--------------

"Stupid useless curriculum," Eliot muttered. He stomped inside the van to look over Hardison's shoulder. "Come on, look something up!"

Hardison's fingers flew over his keyboard, and Eliot watched the lines of text stream across the screen as the search algorithm worked.

"Come on, come on, come on...."

And the world went black and Eliot knew no more.

\----

"Eliot?" Harry called into the comm, flying wildly.

Parker spoke up. "Harry, try 'u-bis' with a yanking motion."

Harry's first try was interrupted by a swipe from the dragon's tail. He rolled, straightened himself, and tried again. "U-bis!"

A bloody grayish mass burst from the sheep's nose, and it collapsed, clearly dead.

The dragon, attracted by the smell, pounced on the sheep and tore it apart. Harry dove for the egg.

Harry grabbed the egg and pulled out of his dive, but the dragon was already turning to attack him again. He flew for all he was worth, the broomstick vibrating beneath his hand.

The dragon roared and breathed out fire, and Harry got caught in the rush of air. He tumbled through the air and hit the wall, hard. He hadn't let go of the egg or the broom, though, and he got the broom beneath him before he hit the ground. He flew back to his exit, shaking and singed but intact. The ground was splattered with blood, so he didn't dismount, just hovered long enough to put the egg down and headed directly for the tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, it is my working headcanon that Dumbledore deliberately allowed Crouch to kidnap Harry, and that this wasn't actually a terrible decision. If you assume that he knows about the horcruxes and that Harry is one, and if you assume that there's not that many options for Voldemort to come back to life, Dumbledore may have been hoping desperately that Voldemort would do exactly what he did, giving Harry a chance to live by using his blood. That's not to say he couldn't have done a better job of everything, but allowing Crouch's plot to continue may actually not have been his worst decision ever. 
> 
> ~ ladyphlogiston
> 
> PS - the spell Luna suggests for Harry to use on the sheep is an ancient Egyptian spell used in preparing a body for mummification. Because of course it is.


	4. Subtextually

They gathered in their headquarters, shaken and unnerved.

Nate had been hit with some sort of magic, and had wandered off and stopped responding to his comm. Sophie had eventually found him in the gardens, having a long conversation with a bench.

Eliot and Hardison had been taken by surprise. Neither of them could remember anything that had happened the entire day. Both of them were particularly shaken by the loss of memory. They had listened to the recordings of their conversations three times before Eliot stomped into the kitchen for a beer.

Hardison's laptop had disappeared, but Parker said that the men who attacked them had been fighting over how to work the strange "book" when she and Luna found them. Hardison could brick it remotely and work from his backups.

They'd been made. They didn't even know who had spotted Nate, or how the van had been found. Harry had survived the First Task, but it was becoming increasingly clear that this job was bigger than they realized.

\------------

"So, we know the men running this thing are corrupt," Sophie began after dinner. "Bagman is running a book on his own event; Crouch may be following the rules but we know he made no attempt to get an unwillingly entered minor out of it. The men who took out Eliot and Hardison were wearing auror robes—Wizard police—but from what Parker overheard they were reporting to someone named Lucius Malfoy."

"While we're talking about what we're up against, I'd like to hear about the snake the size of a train, Eliot," Hardison put in.

Eliot sighed. "Harry's been in trouble since the day he set foot in this world, I'm not going to lie to you. I'd have pulled him out years ago, but his magic needs training, and the American wizards would kill me, or at least erase my memory of him, if they learned I was a muggle. It's bad there for magic kids born to normal people.

"Anyway, Harry's had the whole world after him from the beginning. Some wizard called Voldemort started a civil war about twenty years ago. Killed a lot of people. He killed Harry's parents, and apparently he tried to kill Harry but got himself blown up instead. Mind you, there weren't any witnesses to that, so I don't know where the story came from...."

Eliot laid out the rest of the story: how Dumbledore had lured Voldemort to Hogwarts and left Harry to fight him, how a giant snake had terrorized the school unhindered until Harry thought to talk to a key witness, how the wizarding government had incarcerated Harry's godfather without a trial and exposed the entire school to mind-raping monsters when he escaped. Eventually he finished.

Hardison was the first to break the silence. "I'll start packing up our stuff. We can get a flight out this evening."

"What? Hardison!" Eliot started, but Sophie cut him off.

"We'll come back to help Harry with the other two tasks, Eliot, but this is too big for us! This is an entire government that's rotten all the way through."

"Luna hasn't learned the two-finger twist lift yet," Parker objected.

"I'm not leaving! This is my kid!"

"They stunned us and wiped our memories, Eliot, what else do you want them to do?"

"Enough." Nate stood up, taking command on the conversation. "Eliot, I'm sorry, but Sophie is right. The entire society is rotten, and I can't see a way through. We'll help Harry with the rest of the tasks, and after that you need to think about getting Harry out of the magical world." Nate finished his drink and left the room, leaving the other four scowling at each other.

\-----------

Later that evening, Jim Sterling slid into the chair next to Nate and gestured to the bartender, a refill for Nate and one for himself.

"Sterling, what a pleasant surprise," Nate said after a moment.

“Well, I do tend to keep an eye out for you, so when I heard the gang was in the UK, I thought I'd drop by,” Sterling replied.

Nate didn't respond.

"What are you doing here, Nate?" Sterling finally asked.

"Drinking," Nate replied. "I'll probably have dinner as well."

Sterling resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Nate could be quite trying at times. "You know what I mean."

"Helping my nephew," Nate said, picking up the scotch placed in front of him and smiling appreciatively at the bartender.

"You haven't got a nephew," Sterling replied, his own drink untouched.

Nate took a lingering sip from the glass. "Adoptive nephew. Of sorts."

Sterling sighed slightly. "You are up to something. Something brought you to Scotland. You and your team have one of your plans." He placed his hand over Nate’s drink, forcing Nate to face him. "I will figure it out. I will catch you. I always win this game."

Sterling downed his drink, stood up and made his way toward the door. "Enjoy your dinner," he called over his shoulder.

\----------

Hardison shook his head. "Nate says we shouldn't get involved. It's too big. Too many people we can't account for. Rigging a tournament, fine. But an entire government? One we know nothing about? One hidden from the rest of the world, where half my tricks don't work? Too risky."

"Hardison," Parker begged, "it's for Harry. You know he won't be safe unless we do this."

Sophie sat down by Parker. "Nate’s right, though. The government itself is a pawn for the people working against him."

Eliot's face grew dark. "Look, I don't care if Nate says no. I don't care if any of you say no. I am going—"

The door slammed open and Nate strode in. "Eliot, Hardison, work on Malfoy and his goons. Keep them distracted. We'll need some breathing room to work the Minister. Parker, you run interference with the school. I get the impression Dumbledore will not like us nosing in on his game, so keep him distracted. Sophie, you and I will take Fudge and the Wizengamot."

Sophie's mouth closed with a small clop after a second. "What happened to 'it's too dangerous'?"

"Sterling is in Britain. He agreed to help us," Nate replied.

"Wait, really?" Eliot asked in disbelief.

Nate shrugged slightly. "Eh. Subtextually."

\--------

"Magic is still a problem," Nate said, pacing across the front of the room. "Harry can help occasionally, but we need an adult wizard we can trust. Eliot, what about that contact of yours in New Orleans?"

Eliot shook his head. "Goyle's family is connected to the Death Eaters. I never told him about Harry, and I don't intend to. He'd flip on us. If we want to bring in a wizard, I think our best bet is Sirius Black, Harry's godfather."

"He didn't sound particularly stable," Sophie said hesitantly.

Eliot shrugged. "I've dealt with crazier. He's loyal, and he's a fully trained wizard with nothing better to do."

"Fine," Nate decided. "Eliot, get in touch with him. Hardison, check whether there's still an active warrant for him on file at Scotland Yard and cancel it if you can. I doubt most people will recognize him, since it's been a year since the police were circulating his photo."

Eliot nodded. "He was out of the country over the summer. He said he was coming back after Harry told him about the Tournament, but I haven't heard from him yet."

\---------

A few days later, Eliot pushed the door open. "Guys, meet Sirius Black."

Nate looked up to greet him, and stopped. He raised one eyebrow. For a moment, everyone was stunned.

" _What_ is _that_?" Sophie gasped.

Sirius looked down at himself. The powder blue velour tracksuit was unzipped to his navel, the wide collar popped. The legs flared over tight leather boots. His hair, however, was too long and dirty.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I haven't had a haircut in ages, and my glamours are wearing off faster than they used to."

"But what are you _wearing_?" Sophie demanded.

Sirius straightened up, cocked one hip, and threw out his chest. "Muggle clothes! Harry's mother taught me how to dress for muggles before Harry was born. We used to go to the disco clubs together."

"That...is not..." Sophie gasped.

"Okay, welcome, nice to have you," said Nate, coming forward to shake hands. "Sophie will be getting you some new clothes."


	5. Lemon drop

"Oh, hello, Minister Fudge?" Sophie drawled. "I'm Sandra Kitterbaum, from New Orleans over in America. I work in public relations, and let me tell you, you have a mighty storm blowin' in."

"A pleasure, Miss Kitterbaum, but I really don't think—" Fudge began.

Sophie took Fudge's elbow and began guiding him back to his office. "Now, you've been doing really well, but one man can only do so much, am I right? Especially when he has a government to run, like you do. What you need is someone who knows what to say to the public, and for that you've got me, alright? Oh, did you not get the memo? Your secretary told me you'd signed off on it! But you're such a busy man...."

\--------------

Nate knocked on Sterling's hotel room door at precisely 7 a.m. Sterling answered it, blearily squinting at Nate.

"Good morning! Come on, up and at 'em, let's get going!" Nate said, throwing a bundle of fabric at Sterling's chest and clapping his hands.

Sterling shook out the bundle he had reflexively caught. He eyed the clothing warily. "Nate, what are you doing here, and why did you hand me a dress?"

"It's a robe! You have to wear it for this job," Nate replied, smiling at him as he pulled out his own and began putting it on.

Sterling gave Nate a look. "I don't care _that_ much about your con, Nate. I am not wearing a dress. You look ridiculous."

"You have to! How else will you figure out what I'm doing? Come on, put on the dress. Robe."

Sterling rolled his eyes but complied.

\---------

Parker somersaulted under the Fan of Tickling, slid through the narrow gap in the six-point intruder-detection matrix, and tapped the painting of the Luna moth three times with the flawless pink ruby she wore on her necklace.

The moth painting opened onto a deep pit, and Parker threw herself in, shrieking gleefully as the permanent whirlwind caught her and delivered her safely to the bottom. Setting up a safehouse with the help of magic was so much fun!

Luna was rearranging her stolen quills into an elaborate mandala on the high outer wall of her private space. (Nate had insisted they had to return most stolen items by the end of the day, but it was okay to keep quills as trophies.) The opposite wall was strung with developing photos, and the floor was covered in a thick overlapping layer of brightly-colored rugs. Luna had charmed the bed frame bright white, but her quilt and desk were flashing every color of the rainbow.

"I brought you something," Parker said, setting her backpack on the desk and pulling out a slim tablet and a bulky charger box. "Hardison sent it for you. It'll let you access the digital library he's building."

Luna drifted over and watched, wide-eyed, as Parker turned it on.

Parker picked up the charger box and frowned. "It's a solar charger. It needs sunlight." She looked at the high window, which let in light and air but not much direct sunlight.

" _Solas_ ," Luna cast, and a beam of strong sunlight illuminated the charger box, which lit up to show it was charging. Luna smiled. "Vampire-fighting charm," she explained. "Daddy made me learn them when we went to Romania. But the only vampire I met just gave me gummy worms, so I didn't kill him."

Parker smiled. "I think that was really nice of you! So the way you use this thing is...."

\-------

"The problem," Hardison began, "is that most of my tricks won't work. Normally, if I want to annoy someone, I just hack their computer, maybe dox them."

Sirius was looking confused, so Hardison added, "Hacking their computer means I use the internet to mess up their files and stuff. Doxxing them is getting other people to annoy them, send them lots of mail and stuff."

"We could still do that," Eliot suggested. "Put out a fake newspaper, maybe?"

Sirius nodded. "We'd need a printing press, but it's a good idea. I know lots of rumors about the Malfoys."

"Hey, you're in the muggle world now, we don't need a press. I'll knock something together and we'll print it here, or order a batch from a printing company if we need to."

Eliot frowned. "I still don't know how I'm supposed to be beating up these guys if I can't let them see me."

"You're pretty good with a sniper rifle," Hardison suggested.

"I don't like guns, Hardison. And I'm not shooting anyone."

"Actually, I was thinking of a modified paintball gun. There's some modding communities that produce pretty sweet gear."

"So what, I'm supposed to get paint on them? What's that gonna do?"

"What is paint?" Sirius asked, still gamely trying to keep up.

Eliot sighed. Sirius was eager to help, but explaining everything was getting tiring. On the other hand, Sirius was willing to explain wizard things to them, so it probably went both ways. "It's a liquid used to change the color of things. You spread it on, and then it dries. How do you wizards not have paint?"

Sirius shrugged. "We use color-change charms to change the colors of things."

"Yeah, but don't you have painted portraits?" Hardison asked.

"That's a specialty trade, so I don't know how they're made. So, this...paintball gun, it makes a liquid go on people?" Sirius asked.

"Yeah, it uses balls of liquid, held in a polymer pouch that breaks on contact. A modified sniper gun could shoot them accurately from a couple hundred yards away."

Sirius began to smile. "Could we fill the pouches with potions?"

\--------

Nate and Sterling walked through Hogsmeade. Sterling projected calm, long years of training and habit kicking in, but under his breath he kept up a flow of questions and imprecations.

"It's a magic town, they're all wizards and witches. Not normally visible to normal humans, but I have a way around that. Don't do anything stupid," Nate advised him, smiling away.

"Me? Do something stupid? I'll have you know—" Sterling was cut off as Nate pulled him through the doorway of the Three Broomsticks.

They sat, and Nate ordered butterbeer for both of them, passing over coins to cover the drinks. When Madam Rosmerta brought the drinks, Nate stood up to speak with her.

"Good morning, dear lady! My name is Wendyll Harfang, of the Black Forest Harfangs, and I was hoping for your indulgence in a small matter. I am developing a comedy routine—very entertaining, very informative—and I hoped I might perform it here."

"A comedy routine?" Madam Rosmerta asked.

"Oh yes, a performance designed to delight and amuse. They are all the rage on the Continent, you know. The Grand Mage Carcinoma himself recently commended my performance, and I hope to be as successful in Britain as the delightful music of Miss Celestina Warbeck herself."

"Well, that sounds most interesting...." Madam Rosmerta trailed off, uncertain.

"So I may perform? You have such a pleasant villa here, I would very much enjoy it....Where shall I stand? I don't wish to disarrange your business."

Madam Rosmerta looked flustered, but pulled out her wand and pointed it at a space to the side of the bar. "I'll create a stage for you, but just a little one."

"A little one is all I need. Thank you so much. And perhaps I should warn you, for my performance I adopt a different persona; please do not be confused if I sound different or use a different name. These things adjust themselves, you see?"

Nate hopped onto the stage and triggered the Sonorus charm embedded in the ring he wore. Now for the tricky bit.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen! My name is Horus Matlock, and I am so glad, so very glad, to see you all today."

Sterling raised his eyebrows in skeptical disbelief; the rest of the audience seemed puzzled. Well, that was to be expected.

"So I went to the Port-Key Authority the other day, and I explained that I wanted to apply for a permanent port-key, so my children could travel from my home to my office, see, and so I don't have to step outside to apparate every day. The woman looked me up and down and said, 'That's funny, you don't look like a Malfoy.'"

He stressed the last line heavily, and was rewarded with a few tentative chuckles.

"And I said, no, no, I'm not a Malfoy, there's plenty of perfectly delightful people who are not in any way Malfoys, I'm just a wizard who wants to fill out the application and pay the fee for a permanent port-key. And the lady, she pulled out her glasses and looked real close at me, like I was an unexpected animal in Professor Snape's potions lab, and she said, 'Well, I don't know. We could consult the Sorting Hat.'"

That got a few chuckles also.

"And I said, no no no, I'm not a Malfoy, I don't need to be sorted, I just want to travel from my office to my house! And she said, 'I'm sorry sir, we don't serve house elves. You'll have to go two doors down.'

"And speaking of house elves," Nate continued smoothly, "I hear our own Minister Fudge has a house elf! It's a wonderful thing; he's a great wizard. We know he has an elf, because he arrives to work already dressed! Obviously Minister Fudge's elf isn't as good as Lucius Malfoy's elf—now there's a house elf with an eye for color!—but we are all very glad Minister Fudge has a house elf. Otherwise he'd have so much trouble with clothes that he might become one!"

The audience was laughing openly now. Nate grinned. This might work.

"Speaking of Minister Fudge (isn't everyone?), I was just talking about him with my dear friend, Jim Sterling-Black. Jim, could you stand up? There he is, ladies and gentlemen, you couldn't find a man anywhere better at catching Dark Wizards or more dedicated to the ideals of justice. I was saying to Jim, you know, Jim, that Minister Fudge must be very popular! He makes excellent speeches, and when you get tired of listening to him yourself, you apply a couple of color-changing charms and hand him off to your children! I don't know why they don't make toy versions of Minister Fudge, they could make round little dolls and you tap them with your wand and away they go chattering, 'what _will_ Lucius Malfoy think?'"

Nate waddled around the tiny stage, imitating the flapping motions he'd seen Minister Fudge do whenever anything exciting happened at the First Task, and basked in the audience's laughter and Sterling's scowl.

\----------

Dumbledore strode through the castle halls, a determined look on his face. He passed Professor Flitwick and Headmaster Karkaroff without acknowledging their presence, and Flitwick’s brows drew together in consternation. Whatever this was was serious. A full roll call might be in order.

Farther down the hallway, Snape shrank back as Dumbledore stormed past. Whatever he had been searching for he had not found, and Dumbledore not finding something within the school that he wanted to find had alarming implications. Snape proceeded on his way, deep in thought.

Parker dropped from her perch on the ceiling. "The Headmaster is distracted," she said into her comm, then proceeded to crunch down on a hard candy. She held the bag out to a group of passing first years. "Lemon drop?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cue Leverage theme music...


	6. Preposterous

Nate sank into the couch, glass in hand. This firewhiskey stuff was growing on him. Sophie was in a meeting with Fudge, Parker was at the school entertaining herself at Dumbledore's expense, Hardison was working on a propaganda project, and Eliot...where _was_ Eliot? He tapped his earpiece.

"Eliot, where are you? I haven't heard from you in three days."

Eliot's voice came over the line, hushed and a little fuzzy. "Outside Malfoy Manor. Keeping them busy."

Nate thought for a moment. He _had_ told Eliot and Hardison to keep them occupied, but he'd been busy in the meantime and did not actually know what their plan was. "And how, exactly, are you keeping them occupied?"

"Paintball gun, loaded with some potions Sirius says he and his friends invented in school. I had to throw a rock through a window to get their attention, but I've got Malfoy scared to go into any room with windows now." Eliot broke off to fire a couple more rounds, then resumed, "Do you know what happens when an overpowered paintball busts through a window and the room fills with vapor of Hair Growth Potion?"

Was Eliot actually giggling? "...and his goons?" Nate asked, concern in his voice.

"I take ‘em down when they pop out. Paintball or sometimes an old-fashioned beat down. Depends how close they get." He grunted. "Reminds me of Kandahar. We had these..."

Nate pulled out his ear bud. At least Eliot was happy.

\---------

Sophie poked her head into the Minister's office. "Minister Fudge! Do you have a moment? I simply must get a word in with you. I have something that must be handled immediately!"

Fudge looked up from his desk and let a parchment fall from his hand. "Ah, Miss Kitterbaum! It's good to see you! Please take a seat."

Sophie sat down, dropping a file casually on the desk, and leaned forward conspiratorially. "Your public image is a mess, and you need a big win to report. I have the perfect thing. I’ve found that there is the most horrendous bloat in the research processing department. Caterella Rocker, you know, a cousin of the Notts? She applied for a patent for her new method of spinning Acromantula silk three times, and all three times it has been tossed away by the clueless workers there who," she lowered her voice, taking him into confidence, "spend more time drinking firewhiskey than reading applications." It had taken them a while to find a suitably well-connected family with a failed application. The application was for a needlessly wasteful and inefficient method of processing Acromantula silk, but it would come across well with a bit of spin.

Fudge grinned from ear to ear. "That's wonderful! I'll look through this documentation and fire those responsible immediately. And approve the patent, of course."

"Perfect! And might I suggest you give a statement to the _Prophet_? I’ve drafted a speech for you already."

Fudge puffed up his chest and clamped down firmly on her bait. "I would love to!"

\------

"Parker?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are there four dozen laser pointers on my Amazon account?"

"Luna wanted them as a gift for Professor McGonagall. Something about playing with cats.”

\---------

"...and that, witches and wizards, is why you should avoid at all costs the Venemous Werecat! I'm Horus Matlock and that's all for tonight. If you want to come say hello, I'll be at the bar with my friend, Jim Sterling-Black!" Nate finished his lampooning of Dolores Umbridge to gales of laughter, and stepped off the stage.

The Three Broomsticks was crowded tonight. Wizards had taken to stand-up comedy well, and his audiences were getting bigger. Madam Rosmerta had started clearing a space for his stage as soon as he walked in, and he hadn't had to pay for his own drinks in three nights.

Jim was scowling when Nate sat down. Good, the real show had started already.

"What was it this time?" Nate asked, opening the butterbeer that was waiting for him.

Jim looked up, still scowling. "Graft is disgusting."

"Yes, yes it is. Who’s the greedy one tonight?"

Jim nodded towards a morose wizard in eggplant-colored robes. "His wife had a baby at St. Mungo's. That Selwyn character doubled their fees, lost the paperwork when they appealed, and they just lost their house."

Nate took a drink of his butterbeer and motioned for a round of firewhiskey shots. "That's disgusting, all right."

Madam Rosmerta brought the shots, and motioned over a woman in lime green robes. "I've noticed you like to collect stories, Mr. Matlock, and I thought you might like to talk to Dorcas Offing here, about her husband."

"Have a seat, Madam Offing," Nate said politely, assuming his best client manner.

"Oh, thank you. And do, please, call me Dorcas. I...I quite enjoyed your show," Dorcas replied, wringing her hands and glancing around as she spoke.

"Is there a problem, Dorcas?" Jim asked, looking around suspiciously.

"Oh no, I just...I don't know who might be listening, and there's only me now to take care of Altair, with my husband..." she stopped, and her lips trembled.

"Did your husband pass away, Dorcas?" Nate asked gently.

Dorcas shook her head. "No, no, at least I don't think so, and they do tell you, you know, if they die in Azkaban, only they might not tell me right away, and I do worry..."

"He's in Azkaban?" Nate prompted.

Dorcas nodded. "About a year now. There was a shipment of Pixie Breath came in that was tainted, and at least three people died."

"Pixie Breath, Hardison?" Nate muttered under his breath.

Hardison's voice came through a minute later. "It's an illegal potion, basically a street drug. I see scattered arrests, no evidence of a major push to crack down on it."

"And your husband was responsible?" Sterling asked.

Dorcas shook her head firmly. "My husband had nothing to do with it! He brews potions for Mr. Mudbridges, but only legal ones! Everyone knows it's Gorgon Yaxley as imports all the Pixie Breath sold in Diagon, but of course his cousin is in the aurors so he never gets arrested. And the aurors like to be seen doing something, so...." She broke off, twisting her hands together.

Nate was pleased to see that Sterling was scowling again. "Was he given a trial at all?"

Tears began to well up in her eyes. "He was just sent to Azkaban. And now I can't even see him. Those guards scare me so!"

Nate leaned forward to pat her on the shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Dorcas. Thank you so much for telling me your story."

Dorcas nodded. Madam Rosmerta came over to press a drink into her hands and steer her away.

Nate drank his shot of whiskey. "As you said, disgusting."

"Why can't she visit her husband?" Sterling muttered.

"Azkaban is less a prison and more a torture facility," Nate explained softly. "The guards are mind-raping creatures who force everyone who comes in contact with them to relive their worst memories."

Sterling rolled his eyes.

"So what is your plan, Nate?" Sterling asked as they finally left the Three Broomsticks, an hour later.

"Oh, you know, probably steal the government," Nate replied.

"I am almost tempted to let you get away with it. Graft, collusion, corruption, and don't even get me started on that Polyjuice Brothel being openly run as a debtor's prison."

\------------

Lucius Malfoy stepped into Diagon Alley, wincing as the sun worsened his lingering headache. He'd taken a Headache Draught, but it hadn't been entirely effective.

Malfoy Manor was a wreck. Not literally—the stones and structure were as sound as ever—but the contents of every room had been charmed or transfigured in increasingly inexplicable ways. The wards should have blocked all magic, and he was certain that no one had entered the house, but nonetheless the house was filled with furniture that was flashing bright colors, covered in hair, spouting peanut butter, or even invisible. They hadn't found a way to put it right, and Narcissa was getting frantic.

So Malfoy was on his way to hire a curse breaker from Gringotts, despite his headache.

Something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. A pile of flimsy paper booklets were set up in a floating display outside a shop, with a sign that read, " _Second Sight_ – Tomorrow's News Today!" Puzzled, he picked one up.

"PANSY PARKINSON PREGNANT – WITH TWINS!!!" read the headline. It was accompanied by an odd photo: the image didn't move at all, but it was colored, with clear crisp colors brighter than most paintings.

The subject of the photo itself was equally puzzling, as it depicted Draco and Pansy standing together, Pansy with her hand on her stomach. Narcissa stood behind them, smiling benevolently and wearing a dress Lucius hadn't seen her wear in over a year but which he could have sworn was light blue, rather than light green. Inset in that photo was a smaller photo of Lucius himself, looking annoyed, and the accompanying tagline claimed that he was "an incandescent threat" to the unborn children.

Preposterous. Beyond preposterous. He wasn't… and Pansy wasn't…and _Draco_ wasn't… It was so preposterous that he was uncertain where to start.

Lucius flipped through the rest of the booklet. There was an entire article about Pansy's supposed pregnancy, full of unlikely quotes from unnamed sources. There was also an article claiming that Walden MacNair had "desecrated his wife's grave," though on closer inspection it appeared he had merely changed the color of the decorations.

Malfoy read on, vacillating between fascination and horror. A section titled "Purebloods: They're Just Like Us!" showed more of the odd, crisp photos, this time of various of his friends in the act of eating a meal, exiting the floo, and being measured for robes. The last page of the booklet had a note explaining the odd photos (apparently they used a new experimental process invented by an Italian Potions Master) next to a bizarre pen-and-ink caricature of Dolores Umbridge as a cat cornering a shabbily dressed man with mouse ears.

All in all, a very strange publication. And, Lucius decided, a very dangerous one. He had been an unnamed source for the _Prophet_ on more than one occasion, and he knew the value of a sensationalist headline.

" _Priori duplicato_ ," he cast on the the booklet. The spell shimmered over the pages, but then fizzled out and no image appeared. He glared at the booklet. They might have thought to block _priori_ spells, but he was certain one of the slightly-less-legal alternatives would tell him who created this rag.

Ten minutes later, his headache was worse than ever. He couldn't find any evidence of printing or duplicating magic on the stupid booklets. He tucked the booklet into his robes and stormed off towards Gringotts.

After a few steps, he turned and reduced the display of papers to dust. As he turned back to continue on his way, Mr. Jiggers from the Apothecary popped his head out, commented sympathetically that it's never pleasant to have one's personal matters made public, and congratulated him on his upcoming grandchildren.

Lucius scowled. Someone was going to pay for this.

\-------

"Here, take a look at this," Hardison said, handing a printout to Sirius.

Sirius looked at it, blanched, and thrust it back at Hardison. "What in Merlin's name is this?"

"Perfect, that's what I’d hoped for!" Hardison grinned and took it back.

"But what is it?"

"In our world, if you want to tear apart a reputation, you accuse them of mistreating animals. Dog fighting is popular, or you could go with animal testing. You wizards don't care so much about animal cruelty in general, so I had to get creative."

Hardison paused expectantly. “What, none of y’all are going to ask what I did?” he asked.

"Yes, Hardison, what did you do?" Sophie asked.

“I’m glad you asked,” Hardison replied, gesturing with a sheaf of papers. "Wizards do care about cats. They keep them as pets and so on. So I grabbed some animal testing photos from PETA's website and ran the background through a few filters to make the colors more wizard-y. Looks like it worked."

"It's...disturbing," Sirius confirmed.

Hardison nodded. "I figured the foreignness of the equipment would help. It's getting a full page spread in the upcoming edition of _Second Sight_. I'm accusing Gaius Selwyn of running an experimental lab. I considered using MacNair, but Selwyn is a bigger target. Anyway, we did MacNair last time."

"Malfoy is an even bigger target," Sophie pointed out.

"Sure, but you can't make every edition about him. I'm giving him a break this time, and next edition I'm accusing him of murdering little Gwendolyn McKinnon." He held up another photo, this time of a five-year-old girl in a frilly wizarding dress robe.

Sirius looked puzzled. "Death Eaters murdered the entire McKinnon family in July 1981. At least twenty people died that night."

Sophie turned to Sirius. "Twenty people in the middle of the war is just a statistic. One little girl, cruelly murdered by one psychopathic man—that's a story. It's perfect."

"Thank you, Sophie," Hardison said.

Sirius still looked puzzled, but he was learning to trust these people's judgment. "If you say so. What else is going in this edition?"

Hardison flipped through his proofs. "The Selwyn accusation is the leading article. We're also claiming that Myron Wagtail, lead singer of the Weird Sisters, is dying—Sirius, I'll need help picking a cause of death for him—and our human interest article says that Augusta Longbottom carries clean silk stockings, brandy snaps, and her son Frank's prefect badge in her purse."

"Madam Longbottom won't be pleased by that," Sirius cautioned them.

Hardison shrugged. "Can't make an omelet without cracking some heads."


	7. Takeaway

It took Sterling only a few careful questions at the Three Broomsticks to determine the location of the Ministry of Magic. Nate wasn't entirely wrong: this crazy society certainly needed a kick in the pants. But Nate was always so determined to distrust authority. The one option he never considered was contacting the proper authorities.

Sterling waited outside the Ministry, leaning against a wall in the shadows for nearly an hour before his target emerged. Really, were they blind? He wasn't _that_ hard to spot. But his target made her way out of the building, walking swiftly with her head down, doubtless headed to her local watering hole for a quick drink before returning home to do paperwork (if he knew the type, which he did).

"Amelia Bones." Sterling took a half step out from the shadows to let his basic features reveal themselves. "I have some information for you."

He cocked an eyebrow as she started, then recovered and turned to face him, hand on her wand. Quick, but not quick enough for the line of work she was in. And judging by the grimace on her face, she knew it.

Sterling took another step forward. "James Sterling, Interpol. It has come to my attention that several prominent figures in the Ministry have...divided loyalties. This is something I hope I can help to rectify. Perhaps we could discuss this in a quieter environment?"

Amelia peered at the stranger. Not a wizard, judging by the uncomfortable set of his robes, but still in front of the Ministry of Magic, and discussing it. Nor did she recognize him from a wanted poster, either an official one or one passed down quietly. Amelia knew she was treading dangerous waters. The odds of her long-term survival were vanishingly low. Voldemort and his followers were powerful, and could likely arrange for the death of anyone who got too inconvenient. If this James Sterling wanted to throw her a life line, she would take the risk. Plus, it had been some time since an attractive man took her anywhere, much less to a secluded rendezvous.

\------------

Amelia indicated a chair for Sterling in her living room while she continued down the hall to a cabinet. It contained the typical knickknacks and decorative drinking vessels accumulated over the years. She cast a few charms on it, opened a door on the side panel, removed the folder, and brought it back to the living room.

Sterling had poured them each a drink and sat down awaiting her return. She handed him the folder and seated herself on the couch. "Death Eaters, ones either connected enough to get away with it or ones I don't have hard proof of, as well as some of my personal notes on various key figures. Again, nothing I can prove." She shook her head. "Hell, I can't even bring these papers to work. It feels like I'm trussed up over a bubbling cauldron."

Sterling cocked an eyebrow as he skimmed the files. A few of the names had come up in his conversations with Nate and the patrons of the Three Broomsticks, but the file had titles and positions tied to the names. He paused on an internal accounting report from the Ministry. The embezzlement was barely hidden. A large sum of money was listed as a donation under "Special Persons Retirement Fund", and rather obviously distributed among a few of the upper ranks of the Ministry as "Holiday Bonuses". Given in July. Right.

Either anyone that was looking was hopelessly incompetent, or...

"It really is this corrupt?"

Anger flared in Amelia's eyes. "Anyone with half a mind can see it. Unfortunately that leaves a rather small portion of the Wizarding population. For many centuries the Ministry has had only a very light touch. A hundred years ago they made sure the roads were kept free of snow in the winter and that any thieves were locked away and not much else. Then the world grew more complex, and the Ministry tried to keep up. No one paid any attention. And now that we need it, the Ministry has crippled itself. Too many responsibilities were sold to individuals for a quick favor or a better office." She took a deep drink from her glass, pausing to rein in her thoughts. "I do what I can. We make arrests, try to keep people safe. But too many criminals are released, with 'I'm sure it was a misunderstanding' coming down from above, despite the evidence we have. I've seen a young auror nursing broken ribs because he found the wrong person committing a crime and had the gall to arrest them."

Sterling held her eyes for a minute longer, then dropped them to the files. In his world this would be a damning report. Here, it was too dangerous to use.

"Why give me this? You said yourself that if the wrong person finds this, you are dead," he asked.

Amelia snorted indelicately. "These people hardly need proof to try to kill anyone who interferes. A stranger either wants to help or is going to try to kill me regardless of what I tell him."

Amelia looked over Sterling again as he returned to the files. "Speaking of which, how do you think you can help? You clearly aren't from around here, and Merlin knows we tend to be rather set in our ways. I doubt an outsider could get the kind of pull needed to do anything about the corruption in the Ministry."

Sterling closed the folder and set it on the coffee table. "I'm working with a team."

"More Interpol agents? I don't know much about muggle law enforcement, but I don't think they will be able to help."

Sterling paused, considering his reply. "Not agents, no, though I used to work with one of them when I was still an insurance investigator. And certainly not law enforcement." He sighed. Might as well get it out of the way. Amelia was clearly in need of help and frankly not in a position to be choosy, but Sterling couldn't believe he was actually about to connect her to Nate. Damn it. "Quite the opposite in point of fact. Criminals, some of the best in their respective fields."

Amelia sat back in her chair. Sterling had seemed quite upstanding. He had gotten angry when she described the state of the Ministry, though he had hidden it well. To be working with criminals....Thoughts of several aurors past and present that had worked with Death Eaters or other criminals arose in her mind. As Mad-Eye Moody always liked to say, "Can't make an omelet without cracking some heads."

Sterling held up a hand to forestall any remarks from Amelia. "They are actually mostly good people. Or do good things anyway. Corruption is not unique to the Ministry or the Wizarding world. The crew I'm working with specializes in breaking corrupt people, especially people that use laws and rules to abuse others. Nate and his team work for people who can't get justice legally. They provide...leverage."

\---------

Dumbledore made his way through the crowd of students gathered in the Great Hall until he reached Professor McGonagall.

"The wall was like this when the first Hufflepuffs arrived for dinner, Headmaster," McGonagall told him. She lowered her voice and added, "I've tried every dispelling or cancelation charm I can think of, and nothing has worked!"

Dumbledore surveyed the wall. It was covered with a giant painting, at least twenty feet wide, but it was like no painting he had ever seen before. It did not portray anything recognizable, neither portrait nor landscape nor still life. Instead, giant rough squares of pink, lime green, scarlet, blue, gray, and bright yellow oozed and flowed over the surface in unpredictable patterns. Animated drips of white and black crawled across them. The effect was thoroughly unsettling.

Dumbledore ran his hands along the surface, but even the magic was unsettling. The charms holding it in place were not at all what he expected, and he had no idea how to unravel them. Rather than trying and failing in front of most of the student body, he chose to deescalate the situation.

"It seems we will have an unusual decoration for a time," he said pleasantly, pitching his voice to carry around the room. "I shall deal with this after our meal. In the meantime, let us sit and enjoy our excellent repast."

Taking his cue, McGonagall and Sprout shooed the students to their tables. The students went willingly, but they were nervous, constantly glancing up at the writhing artwork and just as quickly looking away. Nobody ate much.

Luna and Parker watched the scene from their perch near the ceiling. "I'm glad you took me to the Tate Modern," Luna said.

"They have the coolest security," Parker agreed.

\-------

Working in the Ministry was fun. Everyone worked on top of each other and everything got done by manipulation and favors. Most members of the Wizengamot had cousins or friends working all over the Ministry, so getting in with a few key officials could unlock several votes.

One such key was almost done turning, in fact. Sophie stepped into the senatorial suite of one Lord Abhean Greengrass. He was a pureblood, and generally considered solidly neutral in the Wizengamot. At least, he wasn’t a Death Eater, and his voting record showed an interest in functional (if pureblood-centric) government. Perfect.

She greeted the secretary (Sandilly Breen, sorted Ravenclaw, mid-thirties, two young children) cheerily, and was ushered into Lord Greengrass’s office.

"Miss Kitterbaum? Cornelius has told me a great deal about you. I hear you’ve been making quite the stir around here."

"Well, I just want to make sure that everyone understands the situation. You see, I've been looking around a bit—I’m sure you’ve seen the memos—and I have been quite horrified by some of the mismanagement I've seen here in the Ministry. I simply wanted to see where you stand, before moving forward to mend matters." She smiled, meeting his gray-green eyes, and thought about his voting record: funding for Internal Affairs, no pay raises effective immediately, murmurs of a few public seats that could go to poor but intelligent purebloods.

Greengrass leaned forward slightly, throwing his secretary a smile as she brought in a tea service. The tension was broken for a moment as she asked how Sophie took her tea and served two full cups.

"Yes, I have seen the memos. I admit some of us have grown quite dissatisfied with how certain issues are being handled, but there has not been a general desire to examine the homunculi in our closets. However, lately there have been stirrings, particularly the comic performances at the Three Broomsticks—have you heard about those?—and it seems the ground may be prepared for some change."

"Well, Lord Greengrass, I think everyone agrees that there are certain individuals who have more control than they ought to over how the Ministry runs. Goodness, even the muggles have better checks and balances than we do! Not, of course, that we want to rework the whole system, but the Minister needs to be able to hear other points of view than, say, Lucius Malfoy’s, bless his dear heart.” She flashed him a bit of a cheeky grin and took a sip of her tea.

Greengrass nodded slowly. "Certainly, things have grown somewhat out of balance since the War. Power begets power, as they say. I am aware that Hogwarts had to cut its staff and has one woman holding three full-time positions, the DMLE budget has been cut for the third time since the War, and we spent thousands upon thousands of galleons on hosting the Cup, galleons which are essentially wasted, since the grounds have fallen into disrepair; not to mention the risk if a muggle found them. But I am showing you my cards, Miss Kitterbaum. May I have a peek at yours?"

She had him. Lean forward, meet his eyes. Honest gaze, shy smile, curl her hair. "Well, Lord Greengrass, I suppose you can. I am simply looking to get more voices into positions of influence. We need honest men with good breeding and no interest in the War."

"And where do you intend to find such men?"

"I've already found one. James Sterling-Black," she lingered on the name Black for a moment, "has done excellent work in Canada, Niger, and Switzerland in rooting out corruption. He stands to inherit the Black fortune, you know, if Sirius dies or gives up his claim. I'm thinking I might ask him to stop by...." She glanced over his face for a moment. Careful consideration, but a smile. He was buying it. "Anyhow, you know my name if you have any questions, but I've already taken up enough of your valuable time."

"It was lovely to meet you, Miss Kitterbaum. You have given me much to think about."

Sophie waited until the door clicked shut behind her before she grinned.

\----------

Amelia listened as Sterling explained about the Leverage team. Reading between the lines, she could tell they had a somewhat tumultuous relationship. Sterling clearly had some grudging respect for them and acknowledged that the team did good, even if he couldn’t approve of their methods. Despite what Sterling said, Amelia was not sure they were truly criminals, at least not anymore. In their previous lives, most definitely. But working with this Nate character seemed to have changed them. She suspected Sterling’s vendetta against them was mostly momentum at this point.

Eventually the conversation drifted back to the matter at hand. Amelia pulled out old law books and tried to recall previous trials which might influence a verdict (assuming the court was not rampant with bribes. Ha.), and Sterling began to wrap his head around how wizarding law worked. It really was archaic, with a general set of laws governing most people, and then special exceptions written in for specific groups, families and individuals, some of whom had been dead for hundreds of years. The only large financial institution was run entirely by goblins, who, despite controlling the vast majority of wealth, were treated as second class citizens not only in the public view but also within the laws themselves.

Fraud and abuse of power were the least of the crimes committed by the upper crust of the Wizarding world, and the stories he'd heard at the Three Broomsticks were only the tip of the iceberg. As Amelia shared stories of casual murder, vicious human trafficking for sex and labor, and the easy manipulation used to cover it up, Sterling grew more resolved. He was not entirely sure what Nate had planned, but he was in.

Amelia glanced up from the progressively more disorganized surface of her coffee table, currently occupied by drafts of warrants. She was startled to see that the clock showed past 11. Hunger gnawed at her stomach as realization dawned. Six hours they had been at this, fueled only by a glass or two of scotch and righteous indignation at the state of the world. And she knew that the kitchen was largely empty, or at least that it contained nothing she felt the energy to cook properly. Amelia tossed a small stack of notes onto the table and leaned back in her chair, groaning.

Sterling looked up, curious.

"It's nearly half eleven. We missed dinner," Amelia responded to his unvoiced question, "and I am not sure I have the patience to cook at the moment."

Sterling set his papers down. "We could order something."

"Nothing is open. Even the Three Broomsticks closes its kitchen at 10," she said, shaking her head.

Sterling quirked an eyebrow. A bar closing down in any manner so early, on a Friday no less, was bizarre. Wizards were very odd. "Muggle takeaway then. How do you feel about Chinese?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tate Modern houses Matisse's The Snail, which I have always been rather fond of. Luna found it inspiring.


	8. It's Disgusting

"...but hey, you never know! Procrustes Crabbe might someday manage to not snort his way through a speech like Fudge's prize truffle pig, just like Madam Umbridge might wear a flattering color, and even the _Prophet_ might report the actual, objective truth. I'm Horus Matlock, have a great night."

Nate stepped down from the stage, pleased with the laughter and applause. Sterling had slipped off to the bathroom a few minutes before, so Nate made his way over to his current target.

"Amos Diggory, I believe," Nate said, holding out his hand.

Diggory's face lit up, and he wrung Nate's hand heartily. "Indeed you are right, Mr. Matlock! That was quite a show! So clever of you. I'll be telling Filandra all about it tonight!"

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, Amos—may I call you Amos?—and I hope you're not leaving quite yet. I would like to introduce you to my friend, Jim Sterling-Black. Such a jolly progressive fellow, you'd never know he was related to the Blacks."

Diggory pulled back a bit, and Nate hastened to add, "Not that you'll be wanting to talk politics at this hour, of course. Just a friendly drink at the bar?"

Diggory smiled and stood up. "Well, I guess I can't say no to a friendly drink!"

"Jim, this is Amos Diggory, a member of Wizengamot, and a friend, I hope," Nate said, sitting at the bar one stool away from Sterling, so that Diggory sat between them. "Amos, this is Jim Sterling-Black; he hails from Canterbury."

Diggory clapped Sterling on the back. "Canterbury, eh? Were you at the game last week? It was quite a match!"

Sterling took a gulp of his drink. "I'm sorry, I missed it. Were you there?"

Diggory grinned more expansively than ever. "Sure was! The Cantrips flattened the Arrows! I did think Baddock was going to let the quaffle in too many times, but then Flynn looped him to get the snitch just in time! And let me tell you..."

Nate smirked and slipped away. Sterling was too much of a professional to do anything stupid, so Nate would only be a distraction now.

Sterling found him outside, twenty minutes later. "You utter tosser!" he muttered.

"What's wrong, Sterling?" Nate asked. "Not enjoying the local sporting scene?"

"How dare you leave me to be polite about that atrociously impenetrable game???"

Nate laughed. "Oh come on, Sterling, it's good for you. And it earns us good will."

"Yes, well, you can take your good will and shove it up your—"

Nate clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks Sterling. Good night."

\----------

Luna wandered into Professor Babbling's office and stood there quietly for a minute or two before the professor looked up from her grading and started at Luna's presence.

"Miss Lovegood, I'm sorry, I did not hear you come in. What can I do for you?" the professor asked.

"I was wondering which runes would be needed for a specific task," Luna explained. "I want to transfigure a piece of 1/16th inch thick copper sheet into a hedgehog for several hours."

The professor thought for a while. Self-contained transfiguration was very complex, especially transfiguring something alive. Pure copper as a base made it a bit simpler, but....

The professor sighed. This was her first year teaching Luna, but she had already learned that it was usually easier to give Luna what she wanted than to ask why. Luna had an instinctive grasp for rune-based magic, and Professor Babbling doubted Luna would do anything dangerous, even if her ideas were a little odd. She found a scrap of parchment and spent a few minutes carefully drawing out a series of runes before handing Luna the sketch.

"I'm afraid you'll have to look up the references for the runes I used in the library. I must get back to grading. Have a good evening, Miss Lovegood."

Luna thanked her, and wandered away.

\-----------

"I need a laser engraver," Parker informed Hardison, thrusting a scrap of parchment into his hands.

"I can get one. What do you need it for?" he asked. Luna was in the doorway, which frightened him a bit. Last night he had seen them sitting together _giggling_.

"We need this pattern cut into copper, and then each pattern cut out like a coin. As many as possible." Parker replied. "They can be small."

Hardison looked at the design. Easy enough to scan, trace and cut into inch coins. "No problem. I can probably get 150 out of a sheet in an hour or so. How many do you need?"

The girls looked at each other and grinned.

\-----------

Sophie laid her hand gently on Fudge's arm. "Minister Fudge, as I’m sure you’re aware, there are some members of your government who are shamefully corrupt. With all these foreign officials visiting, you can't afford to have a scandal. Or at least a scandal you don't control. If it comes out that Mr. Bagman was gambling on his own games, maybe even influencing the outcome, the image of the Ministry would be ruined, and so would your name."

Fudge pouted slightly, fiddling with a bit of parchment on his desk. "But what can I do? People are already starting to make noises, and I put the man in his position. It's only a matter of time before someone calls him out on it and everything blows up in my face."

Sophie smiled. "Why, it’s simple, Minister! You have to push forward and take control. Expose Bagman yourself and you come out the hero. Think on it. Which headline would you want, 'Ministry Official Found Corrupt, Fudge Incompetent'? Or 'Minister Fudge Calls Special Audit of Ministry, Cracking Down on Corruption'? You simply need to get ahead. And to make sure it's done right, assign someone special permission to do an audit. You know, someone from outside the ministry. In fact, I have just such a man."

Fudge perked up at this. She was right; if he could come out on top of this it would only make him look better. A little spin from the press and he could emerge the hero. "Who do you have in mind? I will of course need to have him verified by my people."

"James Sterling-Black. He has had some experience in rooting out corruption before. He is quite good at it. Grant him special authority to investigate as he sees fit, and he will get to the bottom of things, I assure you. And I believe he has already been vetted by Amelia Bones herself."

\-----------

Nate looked out across the crowd. The Three Broomsticks was packed. Sterling, however, was not here tonight: he'd said something about a dinner appointment with a witch he had met. That was unexpected, but it meant this was the perfect night to unveil his new toy.

"You may not have heard about it," he began, with the authoritative voice he used to command their attention, "but yesterday afternoon, the Wizengamot approved a law loosening the restrictions on the processing and administration fees St. Mungo's is allowed to charge. Since this could easily translate to higher Healer's bills for all of us, I think it's time for A Closer Look!"

With a deft gesture, Nate unveiled the line of glass balls on the table in front of him. Tricky magic, this; he'd had to pay the twins quite a lot of money to develop them, though not before getting them to promise him a percentage of the profits if they sold them commercially. He'd sign it over to Parker, or perhaps her friend Luna. None of the team really needed a stake in this world.

"Now I'm sure we all agree that the good wizards and witches at St. Mungo's should be paid, so nobody would object to the occasional paperwork fee—if the fees were even. But they aren't, and we all know it. As my good friend and renowned Dark Wizard hunter Jim Sterling-Black says..."

Nate tapped one of the spheres with his "wand" and a floating image of Sterling appeared in the air above it. The crowd rustled, surprised by the unfamiliar magic. Jim's voice said, "They charge one person a sickle and another person five galleons for the same service! It's called graft, and it's disgusting."

Nate continued as soon as Sterling's voice cut off. "But there's the rub, witches and wizards: is it the same service? According to Lord Gaius Selwyn, author of this law and possible baboon half-breed, it is not."

Nate tapped the next sphere, and Selwyn's image appeared. Hardison had distorted the video slightly before they recorded it in the sphere, making his features slightly exaggerated.

"Of course we need fewer restrictions," Selwyn said condescendingly. "We are simply responding to the paperwork needed. Some people take far more time and are far more trouble to deal with, and we have no wish to penalize those who are easy, normal witches and wizards."

"So according to Lord Selwyn, some people are just more trouble than others! I'm glad he admits it, as his half-baboon ancestry must be the very devil to file paperwork for." Nate mimed filling out a form. "Let's see, cleanliness and hygiene habits: washes once a month, spends the rest of his time picking fleas from his hair and eating them."

Nate looked out at the laughing audience. "I think we all know that this isn't about the difficulty of the patient, is it? It's about the difficulty of the patient's connections. Let's hear Nobbless Goyle, St. Mungo's file clerk and creepy guy in your dorm who knows far too much about the sexual proclivities of house elves, discuss the new law."

"Well, you see, I know where my friends all go," Nobbless Goyle explained in a habitual monotone, "But sometimes I get a name I don't know—like there was someone named MacFarland the other day—and I don't know where to put them. So it takes longer."

"So if you aren't already friends with Mr. Goyle, he doesn't know how to file your chart," Nate clarified. "Mr. Goyle, I believe most of us use something called the alphabet to work out how to file things. I realize this is arcane knowledge, but you might consider finding a first-year student to teach it to you. Seriously, are we hiring file clerks from the long-term Janus Thickey Ward now?"

Nate paused to let the laughter die down, then continued, "So Lord Selwyn and Mr. Goyle both claim the money is needed for the successful running of St. Mungo's. With that in mind, I can only assume that the forty-four thousand galleon house that Lord Selwyn recently purchased in Majorca with funds from St. Mungo's is destined to be a satellite facility of the hospital."

Nate had popped up a picture of an expensive tropical mansion, and now replaced it with a photo of a small shack from the outskirts of Hogsmeade. "Meanwhile, honest wizarding families like the Switherwicks are losing their homes trying to pay these fees. That makes Lord Selwyn's actions not just distasteful, but despicable."

Nate dismissed the photos and looked out at the audience again. "As for rumors that Nobbless Goyle has been giving Lust Potions to young female patients and then obliviating them when he's finished, well...." Nate triggered the first sphere again, which popped up Sterling saying, "It's disgusting."

Nate grinned at the audience. "I'm Horus Matlock, and this has been A Closer Look!"

\---------

Sophie sighed as she left yet another meeting with an ecstatic Fudge. The two days after Sterling's hiring had been a whirlwind. The photographer from the _Prophet_ was sitting in the Minister's anteroom, but she ducked out before he could convince her to stay for a picture. It wasn't that she hadn't been front page news before, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to avoid it at all costs.

She felt the corners of her mouth tugging upward as she saw a stately gentleman with long white-blond hair and a limp strolling around a far corner. She picked up her pace to a speed impressive in high heels, and caught up with him yards before he went through a door. "Lord Lucius Malfoy!" she exclaimed, a little more breathlessly than she had intended. She really needed to amp up her workout routine again. He turned to her. "It's so good to finally meet you."

"Sophie, what are you doing? Meeting Lucius isn't part of the con, Sophie." Nate's voice blustered in her ear, but she blocked it out with practiced ease.

Lucius paused, a bit taken aback, but hiding it well. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Miss...?"

Liar. She knew he'd been following the investigation, and it's not like Fudge would keep his mouth shut about the only "American Southerner" around.

"Miss Sandra Kitterbaum. I've been working as a liaison between the special investigator and the Minister. But I'm sure you've read about it in the _Prophet_?"

His lips thinned as she called him out. "Ah, yes, I am familiar. It's so good to finally meet someone who is...working so closely with the Minister."

"Now Lord Malfoy, I'm aware that you have been accustomed to being in the Minister's inner circle, as it were, and I'm sure that all those who rightfully belong there will be firmly reestablished after this investigation is complete. Not, of course, to imply that you've at all lost his confidence!"

He gave a haggard smile. "I have been quite occupied lately. The Manor has been due for an upgrade for years, and I've been talking to artisans."

Hmm. He was clever, if that was a lure to see if she was involved in the attacks on her house. But her poker face was better than even the purest of purebloods, so she only showed slight inquisitiveness. "It's so lovely to pick out all new things, isn't it! Well, it has been a pleasure to meet the man behind the curtain at last. I'm sure you have urgent business to attend to." She flashed him a smile.

He conceded defeat with a tilt of his head. "The pleasure was mine, Miss Kitterbaum. I am eagerly anticipating the results of this investigation." He bowed slightly, then walked away.

Nate was still grumbling in her ear, but she grinned. Malfoy was on edge. Fudge was shoulder deep into the bait. And with a few more conversations they'd be ready for the switch.

She headed back down the hall with a spring in her step. This was the most fun she'd had since Versailles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major props to Seth Meyers and his writing team, for coming up with the format and structure of the A Closer Look segment. Also to all the other writers and performers of excellent political comedy, which turned out to be much harder to write than I thought it would be, even when I could make up the facts and quotes to suit my needs. I have nothing but respect for those who do it in real life.
> 
> Also, if anyone is interested, I'm posting a little Luna/Hermione friendship fic (which also has some Luna/Draco) called Quantum Mechanics over on my profile. You can find it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1172804).


	9. Glitter

Snape arrived at the Great Hall for breakfast. Upon opening the door, he saw Dumbledore casting spells at hedgehogs covering the floor. Many hundreds of them, Snape estimated. Dumbledore was muttering under his breath as he cast spells, turning the hedgehogs into coins, one by one. Snape quietly backed out and shut the door.

\---------

Sterling knocked on the door to Amelia's office. A call of "enter" was heard from inside, and he showed himself in, quickly shutting the door against the curious eyes of the aurors at their desks outside.

"James." Amelia looked up from the papers scattered across her desk. "What brings you down here?"

"I need to look at some records, and it will be a bit while the clerks track them down for me. You don't mind if I wait here, do you?" Sterling replied, at the same time slipping her a strip of paper.

 _Have a lead. Safe to talk?_ she read as she gave her acceptance to his request. She then cast a battery of detection spells and silencing charms on the room.

"That should last an hour or two. What have you found?" Amelia asked as she finished her casting.

"Macnair, one of the Death Eaters that escaped." Sterling sat with a tired sigh. "He is currently tucked away on one of the Nott properties in Essex. Lord Nott is away, and Macnair’s financials show weekly payments that indicate something is likely to happen tonight. I’d like to keep an eye on him in person."

Amelia leaned back in her seat, flicking a few errant strands of hair out of her eyes. "Macnair is not someone to sneak around lightly. He is very ruthless."

"I should bring backup then." He smiled at her. "Do you have any plans for this evening?"

Amelia glared. "I am the Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I do not go on stakeouts in Essex. I have aurors for that."

"Any that you trust with this?" Sterling replied.

Amelia sighed. There were few enough aurors she could trust with this, and they all already had duties as consequence of that trust. And to Sterling's point, her only plans involved their investigation anyway. "Fine. You get the takeaway and coffee. Now get out before rumors of my gentleman caller and subsequent silencing charms spread further than they already have."

\---------

They set up in a tent on the slope of a hill overlooking the property. Muggle methods of camouflage, Amelia learned, involved covering the tent with plants until it looked like another part of the landscape. Telephoto lenses had been fit to both magic and muggle cameras (courtesy of Hardison apparently, and judging by Sterling's expression when he said as much he was still not entirely happy to be working with that team). Then it was just a matter of waiting. They had captured numerous pictures of Macnair going about his business on the property, and were settled in for the long wait for when, or if, Macnair’s co-conspirators decided to make an appearance.

Small talk drifted to more serious conversation. Amelia discussed the trials of a single woman in law enforcement, made so much worse by a society stuck two hundred years in the past. She spoke of friends and family that had been lost, either through the war or simple time and distance.

Sterling had a daughter who was currently living with her stepfather, someone Sterling knew to be a criminal. His best friend had been screwed over by their employer, and had taken leave to work for the other side, breaking the law to do good.

A heavy silence had settled on them as they considered each other's lives, very different from their own, and neither easy, when a large horse-drawn carriage pulled up to the house.

Sterling immediately moved to the cameras, snapping photo after photo. "Do you recognize them?"

Amelia leaned forward to look through the telephoto lens. Macnair had come out and was watching two cloaked figures unload a dozen large wooden boxes from the carriage. Once the boxes were unloaded, one of the figures pushed her hood back to speak to Macnair and hand him a large money bag. "That’s Alecto Carrow; the other is almost certainly her twin brother Amycus. I wish we knew what was in the boxes!"

"I know those names," Sterling commented, switching one camera out with another. "Let’s try...oh, perfect. Come and look."

Amelia looked through the camera and was astonished to see that she could now see through the walls of the boxes. "They’re house elves!"

"What’s a house elf?"

"They’re creatures that serve some wizards. My brother has one; I’ll introduce you sometime."

"Is it illegal to smuggle them?"

Amelia sat back, frowning. "Their sale isn’t restricted, but they breed slowly and the supply is limited. These are probably stolen."

"So we’ll need to trace the owners before issuing a warrant for them."

Amelia nodded, already considering ways of gathering more evidence against the Carrow twins. At last she finally had somewhere to start.

\----------

"We do have a door," Sophie said as the window creaked open. She gently flicked Eliot's nose with her makeup brush. "Stop moving, unless you want me to put your eye out."

Eliot couldn’t squint his eyes to glare. And whatever she had put on his lips would apparently crack if he moved them before it fully dried, so he couldn't even argue.

"But the door requires stairs, and the stairs require halls and the halls require more doors," Luna replied to Sophie, climbing in through the window after Parker. "Scaling the wall and opening the window is clearly the logical choice."

Luna looked slowly around the room, before finally noticing Eliot. "Oh, hello. I do not think we have been introduced. My name is Luna Lovegood."

Eliot was about to respond, but Sophie glared him into stillness. She smiled at Luna. "This is Mr. Frugalhorn. He will be helping us address the little issue with Lord Malfoy. What have you two been up to?"

Parker set a slightly disgruntled phoenix on the counter. "We decided to decorate Fawkes. Do you have any glitter?"

Luna paused and cocked her head to the side. "If we are giving Mr. Frugalhorn a makeover, we should do something with his hair. I have heard bowtruckle eggs can be used to change hair color."

\---------

Eliot strolled down Diagon Alley, trying to ignore the strange feeling on his face. He'd worn makeup for a job before, but this was much heavier than usual. Still, if it let him actually lay hands on that scumbag Malfoy, it was worth it.

Nate had told them not to let Malfoy see their faces, so Eliot had asked Sophie to disguise him with makeup. He'd purchased second-hand robes, Hardison had made him a fake wand, and he'd even picked a name and a backstory. He was Alwyn Frugalhorn, and he raised Hebrides Blue sheep, which seemed boring enough that no one would question it.

He passed a display of gaudy jewelry (and tried not to imagine what Parker and Luna were getting up to with glitter and the Headmaster's phoenix) and shouldered his way through the crowd, heading towards the steps in front of Gringotts. He spotted Sirius, also in disguise, waiting at a nearby corner, and nodded to him. Malfoy had a standing appointment with the goblins, and he should be coming out right.....now.

Eliot made his way forward, carefully angling his body to be in position. As he drew level with Malfoy, Eliot seemed to trip, and somehow his leg swept out and caught Malfoy, tipping him face-first onto the cobblestones and flinging his cane across the road.

Eliot sprang to his feet and reached for the cane. "Oh, I'm so....Wait, aren't you Lucius Malfoy?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Malfoy was slowly getting up and did not bother to answer.

Eliot came closer, still holding the cane. "I was just readin' about you in _Second Sight_! You killed that little girl!" He pitched his voice to carry across the crowd, and people were beginning to stop.

"If you'll just give me my cane," Malfoy sneered, holding out an imperious hand.

Eliot waved it. "I'll give you all the cane you deserve, murderer!" he yelled, swinging the cane to hit Malfoy across the shoulders.

"He killed Gwendolyn McKinnon! She was only five!" Sirius shouted from the crowd, sending a stinging hex at Malfoy.

That did it. Lucius Malfoy striding down the Alley was a terrifying sight, but Lucius Malfoy down and disarmed (and guilty as hell) was only a target. Hexes and jinxes rained down on him from the crowd, along with insults and accusations, until Malfoy finally pulled himself together and apparated away.

Eliot had long since slipped away, taking the cane with him. He might keep it. It'd be nice to have a souvenir.


	10. There's this guy

"Hey, Nate? You should maybe see this," Parker's voice crackled over the comm.

Nate sighed. He'd just sat down with an afternoon scotch, after a hard morning of steering Sterling and the Wizarding world around. Eliot was watching a game on TV, and the rest of the team was supposed to be fine without him.

"What is it, Parker?" he asked.

"There's a guy here. He was supposed to be a different guy."

Nate took a thoughtful sip. "Where are you?"

"Hogwarts. I'm in Professor Moody's office. Only I guess it isn't Professor Moody's office."

Eliot sighed and stood up from the couch, leaving his beer on the coffee table. "Professor Moody is the lunatic teaching Defense this year. We'd better go."

\-----

The office was decorated in a heavy gothic style, with ornate mirrors and globes (some of them moving) on the shelves. Nate saw that Parker was sitting cross-legged on the enormous wooden desk, face to face with a girl who might have been her twin.

On the floor nearby lay a man, tied up, unconscious, and covered in what appeared to be green jello. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with ragged blond hair and torn clothes. A wooden leg and a glass eyeball lay nearby, both of them moving aimlessly.

Eliot knelt to check the man's pulse.

"Who is this, Parker?" Nate asked.

"This is Luna. I don't know who he is."

"Where did he come from?"

"He was always there," Luna spoke up, turning wide eyes to look at Nate.

Nate saw Eliot roll his eyes in exasperation, and cut in before he could erupt. "Parker, I need you to tell me what happened."

Parker cocked her head to the side. "Luna lifted Professor Moody's flask, for practice. Only it wasn't Professor Moody, it was this guy." She trailed off, staring at the unconscious man.

"So Luna had lifted the flask," Nate prompted after a moment.

"When we opened the flask, it had raspberry-scented mud inside. We didn't know what it was, so Luna asked Hermione. Hermione thought it might be something called polyjuice. So we emptied it out and filled it with raspberry syrup instead, and we followed him. When he drank it, he ran back here, and then he fell over and changed into this guy."

"And you stunned him and tied him up?" Nate asked.

"And covered him in lime jello," Parker replied.

"Why lime jello?"

"So he can't be rescued by Wilty-Glumped Stilts," Luna explained.

Nate rubbed his face. He'd left that perfectly good scotch at their headquarters, too.

"I took a photo of his face and sent it to Hardison. He doesn't have a match," Eliot reported quietly.

Nate nodded. They needed to question the man, and they needed intel. It was too dangerous to bring Sirius to Hogwarts, and taking a strange wizard (prisoner or not) back to headquarters was unthinkable.

"Okay, I'm going to get Snape," he announced, turning on his heel and leaving the room before any of them could respond.

\-------

"Wendyll Harfang, of the Black Forest Harfangs, I believe," Snape sneered, admitting Nate into his office.

"Not exactly. My name is Nathan Ford, and I'm a thief," Nate replied cheerfully.

Snape paused and regarded him. "I cannot pretend to be surprised, Mr. Ford."

Nate smiled at him. "Can't say I expected you to be."

Snape raised one eyebrow. "You are also a muggle."

"How did you work that out, if you don't mind my asking?" Nate asked.

"I know my strength to the last knut, Mr. Ford. I know the strength of my spells as surely as I know the strength of my potions. When a man reacts badly to a Confundus, I do not assume, as so many would, that I cast more strongly than I intended. Rather, I conclude that he is a man of weak willpower. And if a man reacts to a Confundus as if he had been Obliviated, Mr. Ford, I am not a dunderhead who assumes that he miscast the spell. Instead, I deduce that he is a muggle."

Nate nodded, still cheerful. "Good to know, Professor Snape. And I do hope you won't feel the need to do it again."

"Indeed. Now, why are you here?"

"I need your help. Discreetly, if possible."

"My discretion depends entirely on why you want my help, Mr. Ford."

Nate nodded and leaned forward. "Yes, well, you are the only teacher in this lunatic school who seems to actually care about the bodily safety of the students, and you were a Death Eater and a spy in the last war. A member of my team has discovered that one of the professors here is an imposter, so we'd like your assistance in questioning him."

Snape stared at him for a minute, then whirled to collect an old-fashioned apothecary's bag from the shelf. Without a word, he strode to the door and opened it. Nate followed him out.

\-----------

Snape strode into the Defense Against the Dark Arts office, cape billowing. He stopped and stared at the bound man.

"That...that is Barty Crouch, Jr. He was thought to have died in Azkaban several years ago."

Snape looked up to survey the other occupants of the room. "Miss Lovegood I know. Mr. Ford, I assume these other two are your associates?"

"Yes, this is Eliot Spencer, my retrieval expert, and Parker, another thief. They're muggles too."

Snape nodded and returned his attention to the prone form on the floor. He nudged it with one booted toe. "What has been done to him?"

"Luna has hit him with a stunning spell every 14.3 minutes," Parker reported. "The last one was 9.8 minutes ago. We also added the ropes and the jello and the flamingo feathers."

Snape scowled at the two girls.

"Flamingo feathers?" Nate asked.

Eliot scowled. "Crazy over there insisted on transfiguring his underwear into feathers."

Luna looked at them happily. "Pink is such a truthful color. And feathers attract Therbligs."

"Miss Lovegood, you will return to your dorm. You will not speak of this to anyone. Five points to Ravenclaw for your excellent spell work," Snape said.

Luna hopped down from the desk and hugged Professor Snape. "Thank you, professor," she said.

Snape's expression did not change, other than a brief twitch of his mouth.

Luna drifted toward the door, but Snape stopped her. "Miss Lovegood. I assume Miss Parker has been teaching you to steal?"

Luna blinked at him but did not reply.

Snape rolled his eyes. "You are to return the Headmaster’s lemon drops to him immediately."

Luna smiled. "May I infuse them with Woozling Potion first?"

Snape debated silently with himself for a moment, then sighed. "If you must."

"Thank you, professor," Luna said, and left.

"What's Woozling Potion?" Parker asked.

Snape lazily conjured a chair and began to levitate Crouch onto it. "I have no idea, Miss Parker. Miss Lovegood’s grandmother was a notable potions researcher."

Snape tied Crouch to the chair and cast a rough cleaning charm on him. He moved to the desk and set up a Dicta-Quill and a pile of parchment. "I am going to wake him up and dose him with a truth serum. You may stay, but do not speak, and stay out of his sight."

"May I make a suggestion?" Eliot asked.

Snape scowled but waited for him to speak.

Eliot gestured towards Crouch. "Muggle interrogation uses psychological techniques to disorient the subject, which might be helpful here. If we have a way to make the room dark except for a bright light shining on his face, he won't know where he is, and it will make it harder for him to see us."

Snape narrowed his eyes in thought. "The suggestion has merit," he decided, using his wand to alter the lighting accordingly.

Nate and Eliot stepped back into the darkness, and Snape dosed Crouch with Veritaserum and then woke him.

Crouch woke up and shrank back from the light.

"What is your name?" Snape snapped.

Crouch struggled against his bonds briefly and then gave up. "Bartemius Crouch, Junior."

"What is your mission?"

"To deliver Harry Potter to the Dark Lord."

"Why does the Dark Lord want Potter?"

"So he can be resurrected."

"Where is the Dark Lord?"

"An estate near the muggle town of Little Hangleton."

"Who else is there?"

"Peter Pettigrew."

Snape cursed quietly.

"Besides the Dark Lord and Pettigrew, who else is there?"

"Nagini."

"Who is Nagini?"

"The Dark Lord's familiar. A snake."

"Besides the aforementioned beings, who else is there?"

"No one."

"The only beings who know the location of the Dark Lord are yourself, Pettigrew, and Nagini?"

"Yes."

"Is there anyone other than yourself, Pettigrew, and Nagini with whom the Dark Lord has made contact?"

"No."

The interrogation went on, question after meticulous question. Snape uncovered a planned ritual to resurrect Voldemort, the layout of the house and the schedule of its inhabitants, the nature of the Dark Lord's homunculus body, and how Crouch himself came to be present at Hogwarts. Finally he stunned Crouch again and restored the lights.

They sat in silence for a moment.

Nate got to his feet. "Eliot, Parker, sounds like you'd better get ready to collect Voldemort. Get with Hardison to figure out where this house is and how to get there."

Before any of them could move, Snape swung his wand, locking the door. "Dunderheaded fool of a muggle!" he roared. "One does not just collect the Dark Lord!"

"Why not?" Eliot asked, folding his arms. "Sounds like he's pretty helpless, and the snake will be gone for a few hours."

"Because one cannot kill the Dark Lord! He has already survived death!"

Nate smiled. "Not going to kill him, just capture him. We can keep him quiet with sedatives until we decide what to do with him."

Snape scoffed. "You have no idea what effect muggle drugs will have on the homunculus he is currently inhabiting. Even if they do work, the homunculus will decay and release his wraith."

"So we use magic drugs. You know about those," Parker pointed out.

"You cannot...." Snape broke off, thinking. "Actually, perhaps you could. A standard Coma Liquor would work for a time...." Snape flipped through the notes from the interrogation, looking for Crouch's description of the base of the homunculus.

Eventually Snape looked up. "To keep the Dark Lord imprisoned in his current state indefinitely, an entirely new variation of the Draught of Living Death must be developed. I can do it, but it will require funding."

"And you have a way to keep him quiet until you have your new potion?"

Snape nodded. "A Coma Liquor, with daily infusions of venom-enhanced nutritive potion, will maintain his current state for at least a month. That will also be costly, of course."

Nate shrugged. "We've got money. It's muggle, at the moment, but I understand the goblins can exchange it. Or we can get bullion."

Eliot pushed forward from the wall. "Great. We'd better go get them."

Snape stepped forward to block his way. "I will get him, when the time comes, Mr. Spencer. Make no mistake: even now, the Dark Lord is a deadly foe."

Eliot rolled his eyes. "I've dealt with those before, you know."

"Eliot, let Professor Snape do it. He's got a grudge to settle," Nate interjected. "Snape, we need Pettigrew alive as well."

Eliot sighed and stepped back.

"I will collect Pettigrew as well," Snape agreed. "Where do you intend to store them? I cannot bring the Dark Lord into the castle. It is too dangerous for the students, and it is likely that the Headmaster would become aware of his presence."

"Headmaster didn't notice one of his oldest friends was an imposter," Eliot muttered.

"What sort of care does he need?" Nate asked. "A continual guard might be hard to manage."

"A reinforced cell with will-sapping wards on it would be ideal. Nurmengard uses a magic-suppression field, but that would degrade the homunculus as well. He will need to be monitored several times a day at minimum."

"What about the Shrieking Shack?" Eliot suggested. "It's accessible from Hogwarts, and private. Maybe the twins could set it up."

Snape considered. "That is acceptable, though I will need to inspect it and ward it to prevent them from coming back once the Dark Lord is imprisoned. And a guard? I will not permit you to use students."

"The house elves have helped Luna and me," suggested Parker.

"The house elves are loyal to the school, Miss Parker."

"Not Dobby," Eliot suggested.

"Dobby?" Snape asked.

"He's a house elf Harry freed at the end of second year. He used to belong to the Malfoys. He's working at the school now, but I think he'd help Harry."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "I was aware that Lucius had lost his elf. It was quite an embarrassment for him. If Potter was responsible, then perhaps he has his uses."

Parker hopped off the desk. "I'll go ask Dobby to help. And get the twins."

The door closed behind her. Snape pulled another potion from his bag and bent to administer a dose to Crouch. "I am giving Crouch a sleeping potion. It occurs to me that we might keep him in the trunk, where he has kept Moody."

"What should we do with the real Moody?" Nate asked.

Snape sneered at him. "I'm sure you'll think of something, Mr. Ford. But I suggest you retrieve him soon. The potion Crouch has him under will wear off in half an hour, and you do not wish to tangle with Mad-Eye Moody."

"We'll decide what to do with him when we know how he is," Nate said. "He may be quite sick."

"Let him teach Defense anyway," Eliot muttered. "Not like it makes a difference."

Snape looked at Eliot with a certain amount of sympathy. "I gather Crouch was actually a better teacher than any the students have had recently."

"Oh, I know that. Just gets me that the new teacher is replaced by an imposter and the Headmaster couldn't be bothered to notice. There's no way Crouch imitated him perfectly."

"He didn't. But...." Snape's gaze shifted to the pile of transcribed notes on Moody/Crouch's desk. "This time, I admit, the Headmaster may have had his reasons."

"What do you mean?" Nate asked, gesturing to Eliot to stay quiet. Eliot growled but complied.

Snape rubbed his face. He flipped through the notes and ran his finger down the description of the planned resurrection ritual. "I would have to check my books to be certain, but the use of mummy brain and soul grass is significant. No one knows how the Dark Lord survived death. I believe...I believe he may have stored part of himself—his soul, or his life essence—separately from himself. Such things are the blackest of black arts, but they exist."

Eliot narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. "This stored self: would it be able to interact with living people?"

Snape raised one eyebrow. "It depends on the type, Mr. Spencer, but yes, it is possible. Have you come across such a thing?"

"Harry told me that he fought Voldemort at the end of his second year here—Voldemort as a young man, stored in a diary."

The notes fell from Snape's hands and scattered all over the floor. "You are certain of this?"

Eliot nodded.

Snape paced across the front of the office, muttering to himself. He stopped, glaring. "You or Potter will tell me every single detail about that diary!"

"I'd be happy to set that up, Professor Snape, but we need to get Moody out and you need to go collect our next victims," Nate interjected.

Snape pulled himself up and nodded. "I will go now and meet you in the Shrieking Shack within the hour. If I do not return, you will have to tell the Headmaster where I am." He whirled on his heel and left.

\-----------

Eliot heard the pop of apparation and rushed to open the door of the Shrieking Shack. Snape stepped through as soon as the door opened, carrying a bundle under one arm and a large sack on his back.

"Do you need medical attention?" Eliot asked.

"No. As we anticipated, they were unprepared for attack, and Pettigrew has always been a miserable dueler." Snape dropped his burdens and looked around. "Upstairs?"

Eliot took the large sack and heaved it onto his back. It weighed a ton. "What's in this?" he asked, starting up the stairs.

"The snake. Tell me if she moves."

"You couldn't have magicked her lighter?"

"I did."

Eliot's eyes widened, but they proceeded in silence.

Nate was waiting for them at the top of the stairs. The Weasley twins had their heads together, bent over a large paving stone that apparently anchored the wards they were setting up.

"Welcome back, Snape. I hope it all went well?" Nate asked.

Snape nodded. "The snake is in the sack Mr. Spencer is carrying. As we need her venom to sustain the homunculus, we will need to keep her sedated rather than killing her immediately."

"And Pettigrew?" Nate asked.

Snape reached into his pocket and pulled out a bronze coin. "I transfigured him for the trip."

"Couldn't have done that with the snake, of course," muttered Eliot.

Snape raised one eyebrow. "That snake bears only limited resemblance to any known species of snake, magical or non-magical, and stinks of dark magic besides. Without knowing what was done to her, I have no way of knowing how a transfiguration might interact with the magic already on her."

"You said you made her lighter, though."

"The lightening charm is on the sack, not the snake. And, as you experienced, even then I was cautious."

"Yes, well done, you got the snake," Nate interjected. "And Voldemort?"

Snape held up the ragged bundle under his arm. "I have sedated and bound him."

"Excellent. Well, I think the twins are just about finished their work, so if you'd like to have a look...."

Snape stepped forward to talk to the twins.

Eliot checked his watch. "Harry should be out of class by now. I'll go call him."

Half an hour later, their preparations were completed. The Dark Lord was bound and warded as tightly as possible, and Snape had instructed Dobby on what needed to be done. Crouch and Pettigrew had been fed Draughts of Living Death and left in a different room.

"I have two questions, if I may," Snape said as they were turning to leave.

"Sure," Nate replied.

"What did you do with the real Mad-Eye Moody?" Snape asked.

"We got him out before he woke up and left him on the path halfway to Hogsmeade, with his wand and eye and leg. He looks to be in pretty good shape, and we didn't want him running to Dumbledore about us," Eliot replied.

"Acceptable. You were able to get him out of the castle without being seen?"

"Yeah, Parker used her rappelling gear to get us all out the window and down the side."

"That sounds distinctly unpleasant."

Eliot shrugged. "Honestly, I'm getting used to it."

"What was the second question?" Nate asked.

"I wonder if I might have a word with Mr. Potter," Snape replied.

Harry scowled and folded his arms. "Why?"

Snape scowled back. "Because, idiot boy, you have encountered the Dark Lord several times in the last few years, and you may have seen something that would be useful in determining how to contain him, if we can pry it out of your thick head."

"That's enough!" Eliot said firmly, stepping between them. "Professor Snape, I am aware that you need that intel, but insults aren't helping here."

Snape's scowl deepened. "As if the boy doesn't insult me at every opportunity he gets."

Eliot rolled his eyes. "He's fourteen. All teenagers are idiots. What's your excuse?" Not waiting for an answer, Eliot turned to Harry. "Like it or not, Snape really does need to know what you've seen. Let's go to the Three Broomsticks, and we'll have a bite to eat and a drink and talk about it all."

Harry nodded reluctantly. Eliot slung an arm around his shoulders and they moved off, Snape following.

\-----------

An hour later, Harry's voice was beginning to give out. Snape had arranged for a private room at the Three Broomsticks, and Eliot had made Snape stand against the wall so that Harry could pretend he was just telling Eliot about his encounters with Tom Riddle. Eliot had asked a few extra questions about the details of what Riddle looked like, but mostly just let him talk. Snape had watched him intently for the whole story, but hadn't interrupted.

Once the story was done, Eliot had glanced back at Snape, then turned back and quietly asked Harry to tell about his other encounters with Voldemort during his first year, and about his dreams earlier in the year. Snape listened to that too, occasionally shifting but not leaving his position.

While Harry talked, the rest of the team slowly came in. First Nate and Parker slipped in, and sat at the table. Hardison came in a while later and stood against the wall opposite Snape. Finally Sophie came in, accompanied by Sirius in his dog form. Sophie sat by Nate, and Sirius curled up and went to sleep, clearly tired from apparating Hardison and Sophie.

Harry finally wound down, and everyone was quiet.

"Anything you can tell us, Professor Snape?" Nate asked eventually.

Snape seemed unusually hesitant. "I...have a theory. I will need to consult my books to be certain, and even then....You have to realize, this possibility is frightening beyond anything I thought the Dark Lord was capable of."

"Will it interfere with the prison he's in?" Eliot asked.

Snape shook his head. "No. He is held tightly, and cannot escape. Once I adapt the Draught of Living Death for his current state, he will be even more secure. That is perhaps the saving grace of this situation: whatever he has done to prevent his own death, we now have time to unravel it."

"How long will that take?" Sophie asked.

Snape's gaze flicked to Harry. "Possibly a lifetime. I will make that research my priority once I have finished securing the Dark Lord."

"If it would help, I've got the Hogwarts library digitized and indexed now," Hardison offered. Remembering Sirius's confusion over the concept, he clarified. "That means that if you need to look something up—say, what moonstone is good for—you just type in 'moonstone' and it pulls up all the relevant information in minutes."

Snape scowled at him. "How did you manage that, muggle?"

Hardison grinned. "Well, I had some help. There's a charm that my helpers set up to copy the entire library into a format my computer could use. After that it's just basic indexing. I've got everything in the library, including the back issues of the _Prophet_ , and everything in the Black family library."

Snape glared for a moment longer, but then relaxed and looked thoughtful. "That sounds useful. Could you add other books to this...computer?"

"Sure. You want to add your private collection?"

"Actually, assuming the charm can be set up discreetly, I have often wished for more time with certain volumes in the Malfoy library," Snape admitted.

Hardison chuckled. "Sure, I'll hook you up."

"In the meantime," Nate interjected, "we need to convince the wizarding public that Voldemort is properly dead now. That will make it harder for any support to develop, and take the pressure off Harry. Hardison, make up some proof of his death."

"E-excuse me? Just-just like that, prove the most feared wizard in fifty years is dead?" Hardison protested.

Snape sneered. "More difficult than stealing copies of books, is it?"

"Oh come on, it's a totally different problem. You'd need photos or video of....Actually, I did see photos of Voldemort in older issues of the newspaper. If I make a digital build of him it wouldn't be too hard to generate video...."

"There you are, then!" Nate said cheerfully. "You make the video, we take a wizarding photo of it and get it published."

"Yeah," said Hardison, still thinking. "Yeah, we'll do that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may not like Snape much (emotionally stunted bully isn't a good look on anyone) but he is fun to write. And also useful for taking care of Voldemort.


	11. endgame

Parker wove through the Wizengamot pre-session cocktail hour, exchanging smiles and minor pleasantries with anyone who gave her more than a second's glance. It was so _easy_. Anyone who scowled at her for not being one of their "pureblood" friends got brushed up against and their wand and whatever other loose trinkets they were carrying vanished. And anyone who tried to engage her in actual conversation she just giggled at like Sophie told her and their face went funny and they went to get a drink after a few minutes.

She had been wandering through the crowd for barely half an hour and had collected a dozen wands, plus several rather shiny pieces of jewelry and two letters that had subtly been exchanged. They had no awareness at all! She didn't even mind having to smile at random people too much, she was having such fun.

After a while, though, the party was dragging on, and a lord had managed to corner Parker, telling what was likely a rather boring story. Parker shifted, looking for an escape, close to hyperventilating when Sophie's voice came softly in her ear.

"Parker. Take a deep breath. I prepared you with an out, remember? Count to five in your head, use it, and leave. You'll be fine," Sophie said softly.

Hardison glanced anxiously at the monitor from his seat in the van. "An out?" he muttered to himself. "Parker can't lie for her life in a situation like this."

Parker took a calming breath, counted to five, and filled her lungs.

"I AM NOT THE ILLEGITIMATE CHILD OF LUCIUS MALFOY!"

The room immediately went silent. Heads spun towards Parker, who whimpered slightly before continuing.

"HE DID NOT BIND MY MAGIC AND PAY OFF MY MOTHER TO KEEP US QUIET," she continued in a slightly strangled voice, before turning and running for the nearest door.

Feet shuffled slightly and people threw quick, not very subtle glances at Lucius who stood with his mouth open, Narcissa standing beside him, her expression suddenly stony. His quick whisper of "I do not know that woman" to his wife was quite a bit louder than he intended in the silent room.

"You see, Hardison?" He could hear Sophie's smile through the comms. "She didn't _need_ to lie."

Parker twirled around one last rather large man, snagging his wand, a frankly gaudy brooch, and his purse, before vanishing into the hall and ducking down into the cellar. Sirius and his friend Remus watched in morbid fascination as she dropped her pilfered loot onto a small table by the fire. Remus disarmed a rather nasty cursed ring and Sirius began reading the letters, though whether intel or gossip were his goal was anyone's guess. Eliot tossed one of the wands into the fire, where it promptly began to shoot sparks and billow purple smoke before a small explosion ripped it in half. Wizengamot voting would be interesting with several Death Eaters missing their registered wands.

\------------

The crowd settled as Dumbledore called the Wizengamot to order. James Sterling-Black was ready with his report and Fudge had asked for a special assembly with all voting members present.

Dumbledore kept his face carefully cheerful as the man stepped forward. Sterling-Black was, unfortunately, somewhat of an unknown. Dumbledore had been rather occupied and had not gotten the chance to speak with him in person, though his informants mostly spoke well of the man. Arthur Weasley had praised his knowledge of muggle artifacts, Dumbledore’s contacts among the aurors spoke well of him (and hinted at a certain intimacy between Sterling-Black and Amelia Bones), and Amos Diggory, who had actually had a drink with him, said he was a jolly good fellow.

Sterling looked over the crowd. The mirrored contacts Hardison had provided were uncomfortable, but would apparently prevent his mind being read. He clasped his hands behind his back and began his report. This would be interesting. "Francine Edgecombe, you stand accused. On the date of…."

Fudge smirked as Sterling launched into a number of instances of petty graft and small bribes. This was perfect. None of the offenders had any particular wealth or influence, and the evidence against them was solid. Fudge would come out of this looking like a hero. "Minister of Magic Cleans House" the _Prophet_ would proclaim, or perhaps "Minister Fudge Takes A Stand"? Cornelius Fudge would not wish himself equated with a house elf. He made a note to speak with the editor after the assembly was concluded.

As Sterling continued, Fudge felt his confidence begin to wane. Bagman and a dozen minor ministry functionaries had been called out, the instances of bribery and embezzlement listed, and the offenders had been removed by aurors to be tried later. Yet the amounts of money involved seemed to be increasing with each accused wizard. Perhaps Sterling was a bit too efficient; Fudge was losing a significant number of officials and staffers. But if he got ahead, it would be worth it. Finally Sterling closed the folder he had been referencing, and Fudge sat back with a heavy sigh. It was over.

Sterling lifted a second, thinner folder. He looked down at it briefly, and then locked eyes with the Minister of Magic. He cleared his throat. "Cornelius Fudge."

As Sterling listed his crimes in excruciating detail, Fudge grew paler and paler. Every questionable action he had ever taken was included, with detailed supporting documentation. Fudge tried to speak, protest, and even escape as Sterling continued the relentless litany. The hands of four aurors on his shoulders kept him firmly in his seat.

"To summarize," Sterling said, closing the folder, "I have documented 136 counts of bribery, 29 counts of embezzlement, 62 counts of abuse of power, and a plethora of minor crimes unnecessary to list. It is my recommendation that a vote of no-confidence be called, and Cornelius Fudge be detained for a formal investigation and tried for his crimes."

The assembled lords murmured among themselves while Dumbledore called for the motion and a second. Wands began to light up, first from the traditionally light houses, then Lord Greengrass lit his wand and most of the neutral houses followed him. The vote was counted, and Fudge gave one last strangled protest as he was escorted out. It took several moments before Dumbledore was able to quiet the room.

Lord Greengrass lit his wand and was recognized. "In the absence of a Minister of Magic, and due to the questionable circumstances of his time in office, I call for a vote for an Interim Minister of Magic, until such a time as regular elections are due."

Dumbledore suppressed a flicker of worry. "Your nomination for the position?"

Lord Greengrass nodded his head to the floor where Sterling stood. "I nominate James Sterling-Black for the position of Interim Minister of Magic." The room began to buzz again.

Lord Diggory quickly lit his wand. "I second this nomination," he said, staring hard at Lord Greengrass. Apparently Horus Matlock had been right; Sterling-Black had the background to appeal to the neutral houses. They might for once get a strong, light-sided leader in as Minister.

Sterling started to protest but realized he was not making any sound. He looked around wildly and saw Amelia slipping her wand back into its holster. She'd cast a silencing charm at him! He glared at her, and she had the gall to smile back.

Greengrass and Diggory let their wands dim, and as one the members of the Wizengamot all turned to Lord Malfoy.

Lucius swore under his breath. Where was his wand? He had had it when he left the Manor this morning. He could not have lost it. Had Narcissa taken it? Black women were famous for their jealous dispositions. He stilled his frantic search as the attention turned his way. A long pause hung in the air, and Lucius swore silently to himself.

Dumbledore cocked an eyebrow at Malfoy's silence. "If there are no other nominations...."

Lord Nott lit his wand hurriedly, and nominated a junior auror he knew was on the take and had apparently escaped Sterling-Black's investigation.

The vote was called, and Sterling glared at Nate and his team who were standing along the back wall, grinning, as he was led to take Fudge's old seat.

\------------

"You absolute tosser!"

Nate blinked at the very angry Sterling at the door, then stepped aside to let him enter. "What's wrong, Sterling, don't you like your new digs?"

"Aside from the young centaur chained up in the basement, the accommodations are perfectly adequate, thank you."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that. I thought you'd settle in nicely," Nate said, shutting the door and heading over to the kitchen. "Coffee?"

"Obviously."

While Nate busied himself with the coffee maker, Sterling came over and slapped a newspaper down on the table. "I suppose I have you to thank for this as well?"

Nate glanced down. The headline "AUROR BONES KILLS YOU-KNOW-WHO!" was accompanied by a lovely wizarding photo of Amelia Bones casting Avada Kedavra at a snarling Voldemort in the gardens at Malfoy Manor, while Pettigrew cowered in the background. The _Prophet_ article faithfully followed the story Nate and Sophie had worked out: Pettigrew had resurrected Voldemort with the help of a group of Albanian warlocks, Malfoy had been harboring them both for the past month, and now Voldemort was properly dead.

"Adds a nice touch, I think. Closure. You get the hero you need, Voldemort's death displaces your arrests as front page news, and everyone goes home happy. You did make a few arrests, I take it?"

Sterling sat down at the table. "I think I spent a solid half-hour signing arrest warrants last night. With a quill! Good thing I'd helped write most of them, or I'd still be at it."

"So there you are. No one's complaining; everyone's happy," Nate replied, handing him a mug of coffee.

"Until Sirius Black comes home and denounces me," Sterling pointed out.

"Sirius forged your credentials. I don't think you have to worry about it."

Sterling raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. He took a long sip of coffee.

Nate finished adding whiskey to his own coffee and took a sip. "Seriously, is everything settled?" he asked.

Sterling shrugged. "Well enough. I made Amelia head of the DMLE, and gave her old boss the brand-new Internal Affairs Department so he can straighten things out. I don't particularly like Scrimgeour, but he's not on the take and he knows the system. I can work with that." He took another sip. "And we have plenty of evidence for the trials going forward, thanks in part to the Complete Wizarding Digital Database that mysteriously appeared in my email this morning and contains Lucius Malfoy's personal files for the past twenty years."

"You're welcome," Nate said, smirking.

"I don't suppose you know anyone who would suit as a Muggle Affairs director? No one we have is even remotely qualified."

"Sirius mentioned a cousin who married a muggleborn. You could ask her," Nate suggested.

Sterling nodded. "I might."

"So we're good?" Nate asked.

Sterling set his coffee mug down and got up. "We're good. But you have twenty-four hours to leave the country, and if I catch you in Wizarding Britain again, I'm chaining you up next to the centaur. Understood?"

Nate chuckled as he held the door for Sterling. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

\-------------

It was a cold, blustery morning as the Leverage team surveyed Hogsmeade for the last time. In order to expedite their departure, Sterling had arranged an International Portkey for them which would leave shortly, and they were surrounded by bags and boxes full of supplies. They turned as the door of the Shrieking Shack opened, and Harry, Hermione, Ron, Luna, and the Weasley twins came out.

Harry rushed forward and wrapped Eliot in a hug. Eliot stood solidly against it, holding his son and whispering something into his ear. The rest of the party gave easy smiles until they broke their embrace.

Hardison stepped forward, swiping on his tablet. "Harry, you said the next task involved being underwater. I ordered you some gillyweed, which will give you the ability to breathe underwater. In the next few weeks I'll send you a waterproof smart watch with GPS."

"Isn’t that cheating?" Hermione asked.

Eliot turned, keeping his arm around Harry’s shoulders. "Do we care?"

"There’s nothing in the rules that says he can’t use muggle tech," Hardison pointed out.

Sophie added, "Let us know when you get a sense of the third task, and we'll send you something."

Parker cut in. "A flamethrower?"

Eliot glared at her. She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Whatever the task is, I'm sure we'll work something out," Sophie finished, a bit primly. Harry gave a bashful smile and stuck his hands in his pockets, before Eliot guided him a little away from the rest of the group.

Luna and the twins, who had been hanging back, came closer to the group. Luna turned to Parker, suddenly serious.

"Do not let Grumpfangs get up your nose."

Parker frowned. "Yes, they'd make it hard to balance. Make sure that you never try a Type 3 approach on someone with forward-facing pockets."

Luna nodded gravely. "I would not wish to disturb the nesting Zongbats."

Parker smiled. "Exactly!"

The twins bowed in unison to Hardison. "We hereby recognize you, sir, as a great prankster."

"You shall go down in the annals of Wizarding history."

"Your tombstone will sing your praise. Loudly."

"A murmuration of little fairies shall dance upon your grave every seven years on the first full moon, rejoicing in your triumphs."

The one elbowed the other in the side. "That's a little ridiculous, don't you think, mate?"

"Oh. Right. Sorry. Anyway, we've got a package for you." A small sack was pulled out of a robe pocket, and with a tap of a wand it quadrupled in size. "It contains all sorts of lovely treats."

"After all, you've given us so much!"

"Video cameras!"

"Photoshop!"

They stared at each other and whispered in awe, "The Internet."

Hardison grinned. "Thanks, guys. I appreciate it. Email me sometime."

Nate cleared his throat. "If I understood Sterling correctly, our portkey leaves in four minutes, and we need to be physically touching all of our luggage. And he did not seem happy at the idea of us remaining here any longer than absolutely necessary."

Eliot and Harry walked back to join the rest of the group, and they all stood for a moment, savoring being together. Nate removed a length of rope from his pocket, and the Leverage team began arranging themselves among their packages. Nate checked his watch. Thirty seconds to spare. He shot a smile at the younger group.

"Be good, kids.” He tilted his head to the side. “By any means necessary."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the story, folks. We have a few deleted scenes and miscellaneous bits that will go up at some point, probably as a separate work rather than additional chapters in this one. We're thrilled that people have liked this so much - thank you so much for all your reviews and kudos!


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